


these star-flung futures

by stranglerfig



Series: ever upward [9]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Deep Magic, Found Family, Magical Worldbuilding, Multi, Prophecy, Queer Themes, Radical Newspapers, Revolution, Semi-Illustrated, Soul Bond, elf liberation, nonhuman worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:53:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 37,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29309871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stranglerfig/pseuds/stranglerfig
Summary: Prophecy, history, and deep magics come to a head. Harry and his family are entangled with the fate of the wizarding and non-human worlds as they change forever.
Series: ever upward [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1555645
Comments: 348
Kudos: 308
Collections: All around best world building fics





	1. Fugitives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Yes, I followed through on my last-minute name change haha.)
> 
> Folks, I'm freaking out. This is truly and sincerely the last fic of _ever upward_. And I want to truly and sincerely thank every single person who has been reading along--whether you found the series two days ago or a year ago. Because, absurdly, I have been posting for over a year. Things get absolutely wild in this book, and I hope everyone enjoys the ride. 
> 
> **A note on content:** As in all previous books, I will put content warnings at the beginning of appropriate chapters. If you need more detail than that, drop a comment and I'll fill you in. <3
> 
> Oh yes, and as always, this fic updates on Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday!
> 
> Happy reading!!!

“Is this everyone, Tippy?” 

Tippy did a quick headcount. “I thinks so. All but Orry.” 

“Yous  _ sure _ you’s staying?” 

Tippy crossed her arms. “Snake, if  _ I _ is going into hiding, what is the world thinking?” 

Harry stared at her. “Uh … that you has a bounty on your head and doesn’t want to be killed by aurors?” 

She rolled her eyes. “No, Snake, they is thinking I is afraid. I’s visiting the camp when I can. For now, I must remains here. There is work to be done.” 

“Alright,” Harry said softly. In the tunnel behind him, fifteen liberated elves shifted uneasily, but kept quiet. 

“Ready,” called Orry from down the corridor, hustling towards them in a deep green cloak, carrying a healer’s kit. “Tippy—I’s seeing you soon, my love.” 

For the first time all morning Tippy’s face was something other than granite-hard. Harry turned his back to give them privacy, and after a quiet moment Orry put a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s go, Snake.” 

With one glance back at Tippy, standing tall and strong in her high-collared black robes, Harry shut the tunnel entrance.

A flurry of elflights were lit immediately, and, with Orry at his shoulder, he silently led them away from the elf wing. 

How like a year ago, evacuating elves in the middle of the morning. How unlike a year ago, when it was the ministry they were now escaping. 

Reaching the entrance onto the grounds, he paused. “How many of you can turns invisible?” 

About a quarter of them raised their hands. 

“Alright. Hold hands and follow me. Anyone who can’t, come here.” 

Eleven elves shuffled forward. Harry unclasped Áwere and carefully draped it over three of them. “You must sticks very close together,” he said. To a fourth he passed a pendant he never took off. “Keep the hair against your skin.” 

Clenching his fists, he looked at the seven who were left. “The rest of you … we is just going to have to be very careful. Once we is  _ in _ the forest, the ministry’s wards is gone. All we haves to do is makes it to the trees. We haves to be fast and silent. Gots it?” 

“We haves it, Snake,” said Orry. “Listen up,” she called to the elves. “If one of us falls behind, none of you stops. Snake and I is handling it. Your only goal is to gets to the trees. Is I understood?” 

Nods. Presumably the invisible elves nodded too. 

“Alright,” Harry said. “Let’s go.” 

Quickly and quietly they filed out of the castle, dropping silently from the pipes. Frost covered the ground; the lake was frozen over. Far away, Hagrid’s hut was decorated with bright green garlands. It was barely two days after Christmas.

The treeline loomed in the distance, with no visible obstacles between them. Harry began to jog towards them, the seven unguarded elves surrounding him, panting quietly from stress and exertion.

The sun was only just rising. They were late, but it was unavoidable. Could he see faint movement already in the treeline, or was that simply hopeful thinking?

“Snake,” breathed Orry, “to the east.” 

He looked towards the rising sun. Figures roved over the horizon, silhouettes with strange glowing shields raised over them, accompanied by dark and shadowy forms. 

“What are those?” Harry breathed. No one answered. They ran faster. 

They were spotted.

The first spell bolt shot over their heads, yellow and acidic, and one of the visible elves jolted and nearly fell. Harry seized his elbow and threw him forwards, placing himself on the outside of the group. “Everyone go!” he hissed. “Go, go, go!” 

The elves fled as he and Orry dropped back, putting themselves between the elves and the aurors … and whatever was accompanying them.

Spells screamed towards them, no pretense of subtlety now, and Orry seized his hand, tugging at his magic. Together they threw their hands up and raised a glimmering silvery shield. Three spells ricocheted off, and then a fourth shattered it, magic raining like glass down over their heads.

They were nearly to the Whomping Willow. Nearly there. He  _ could _ see movement in the trees, he wasn’t imagining it. 

The aurors and their shadowy things were converging. He and Orry raised another shield, another, another, running backwards behind the elves.

“Ah!” A short, sharp, cry—Harry whipped around—an elf had been hit in the pause between one shield and the next, and she was fighting to rise from the ground. 

Harry tore his hand from Orry’s and scooped her up, spinning back around in time to see Orry’s shield fail, a spell heading right for her chest. 

_ “Protego!”  _ he shouted, reaching out a wandless hand. As always, the combination of a wizard spell and elf magic made the results twisty, and rather than be blocked, the spell rebounded, zooming straight back into the auror twenty yards away who had cast it. The man dropped to the ground, writhing. 

An invisible fist knocked at his leg. “Give her to me!” 

Harry dropped the elf into her invisible companion’s arms and seized Orry’s hand again.

They were at the Willow. The aurors now numbered four and their shadowy companions five, raising up a wave of spells to come down on them. Everything seemed to be getting darker.

“Snake?” Orry asked, holding out her hand. 

“Orry,” Harry answered, and seized it. 

One breath together, and two, and  _ why was he so calm?, _ and as their arms swept up so did a wall of magic, absorbing the spells thrown at them and hurling them back. 

Every auror went down.

Their five shadowy  _ things _ did not.

And as those  _ things _ crept closer, something terrible began to happen.

Orry took a great shuddering, gasping breath, hand trembling in Harry’s, and their shield evaporated. Harry tried to tug it back up—tug it up—but … but something wasn’t right.

He felt cold. He felt so cold, down to his very bones, and someone was screaming—who was screaming—it wasn’t Orry—

_ T R A D E _

He swayed. Long, icy hands reached out to cradle his face. 

_ “EXPECTO PATRONUM!”  _

A wave of magic blew past him like a spring breeze. His vision returned. A spectral phoenix, feathered and fierce and made of flaming rainbows, twisted and curled round him and Orry, driving those terrible things back, and their scream was even more terrible than the scream clawing out from his throat—

The things fled—

“Snake!” 

His sister took his hand. 

He snapped back to the present, staring down at Limmy, whose eyes were glowing red and orange and green and whose wiggenwood wand was shining in her hand, somehow marshaling that spectral phoenix which whipped around them in a frenzy.

“To the trees!” she shouted. With a flick of her wand she snapped off the spell, and together the three of them sprinted the last distance to the woods. 

_ A spectral phoenix, feathered and fierce and made of flaming rainbows _

The moment they crossed the border, Harry fell to his knees, retching and shaking. Orry left him and returned in a moment. “Everyone’s here,” she said in relief. “And here, Snake, your cloak and pendant.” 

He took them, standing with Limmy’s help. “What  _ were _ those?” he asked in astonishment. “And what was that phoenix?”

“They is dementors,” Limmy said grimly. “Guards of Azkaban prison. They feeds on happy memories, and if they gets close enough, they sucks out your soul. And  _ that _ was what Hermione and I is working on all semester, Snake. A patronus.” 

“Is Hermione’s a rainbow phoenix too?” Harry asked in astonishment.

A glow of mischievous pride came to her eyes. “No. Just mine.” 

“Snakeheart,” came a booming, urgent call, and Harry snapped to attention as Bane emerged from the trees, trotting up to him. His black skin looked almost grey with fright. “Dementors, we heard there are  _ dementors _ on the ground—are you alright?” 

“Yes,” Harry said shakily, exchanging bows with him and then accepting an awkward half-hug. “Thanks to Limmy. Are your warriors ready?” 

“Yes. Where is Feverfew?” 

“Orry’s here,” said Harry. “Orry, please meet Bane, mate to the leader of the Northern Stargazer Band. He and the Stargazer warriors will guide you across the forest to the site.” 

Orry bowed to him, a bow which Harry had taught her. “Thank you, Mate Stargazer. We is in your debt.” 

Bane shook his head. “No. You are a member of the forest nations now. When we stand together against the humans, there is no debt.” 

“Limmy,” Harry asked, drawing her aside. “What is you doing now? Going back to the camp with them?” 

She nodded. “I’s knowing the deep wood best, even better than Bane, I thinks. And I’s telling Sovereign Amaranth that I is returning with them. We haves a  _ lot _ to do.” She hugged him tightly. “But I’s seeing you this summer.”

“I wish I had two sets of mirrors,” Harry said, squeezing her tightly. “How’s I going to survives without you bullying me all semester?”

She laughed. “You’s getting by. Draco is handling it. And Laila.” She sobered. “I is missing the babies. Please tell them.” 

“Of course.” He hugged her one more time, adjusted her sparkly beret, and let her go. “Bane—Limmy Snakeheart is my sister.” Bane raised an eyebrow. “So,” he continued, “she is your family too. Please … just be careful.” 

Bane ran a hand over his head gently, and then he bowed as Harry had never seen him bow to an outsider, hands to his heart. “Limmy Snakeheart,” he said. “As Snakeheart is my kin by fate, so are you. I will protect you as I would protect my own son.” 

Limmy’s ears twitched, and she bowed back. “No need for that,” she said, punching Harry subtly in the thigh. “I’s thinking I does a good bit of protecting, myself.” 

“I have no doubt,” said Bane. He looked to Harry again. “My son … sends his love.” 

“I send mine,” said Harry. He hugged Limmy again, then Orry, then Limmy one last time. “Be safe, everyone. Please be safe.” 

He watched them until they were all out of sight, disappearing silently through the snow-topped trees, almost ghostly. His heart ached briefly, and he ran his hands repetitively over his braid, soothing himself. They would be okay. With Limmy and Bane together, a combination he had never pictured, what in this forest would dare to trifle with them? Plus, there were fifteen unbound elves alongside them, with magic that would only grow stronger as they neared the deep wood.

Yes, he thought, nodding to himself. It was silly to worry about them, when there was so much more to worry about instead.

He put on his pendant and invisibility cloak, peering out of the woods to be sure those terrible dementors were gone. He still felt shaky. The aurors were picking themselves up, shouting and gesturing with wands drawn. They seemed to reach a consensus and turn towards the castle. 

Doubly invisible, holding his breath, he followed. 

They didn’t get farther than the entrance hall. Dumbledore stood with hands tucked into his sleeves, flanked by Severus and Minerva.

“Albus Dumbledore,” said Dawlish, the head auror that Harry had witnessed before. “An attack on aurors on Hogwarts grounds—” 

“I witnessed no attack,” Dumbledore said gravely, “and I have no clue as to whom you could be attacking. And furthermore, while the Ministry’s new mandate may allow auror presence on the grounds, the additional presence of dementors constitutes a severe breach—” 

Dawlish seized a scroll from his belt and whipped it open. “It constitutes nothing except new ministry policy, Dumbledore. Your continued harboring of the dangerous militant terrorist group calling itself the “liberated elves” is a breach of—“ 

This time Dumbledore cut him off. “There are no liberated elves at Hogwarts.” 

Dawlish gaped at him. “The devil there aren’t. You have held this castle as a sanctuary for the last year—” 

“Which I revoked yesterday morning after the Ministry’s declaration,” said Dumbledore, mild of tone but fiery of gaze. “Never let it be said the Hogwarts headmaster is disobedient to the minister’s whim. The only elves Hogwarts harbors are its own employees, and employed elves, by the minister’s own decree, are exempt from your purview.” 

Dawlish opened and closed his mouth. “I demand to see proof!” 

“Proof?” asked Minerva, speaking for the first time from Dumbledore’s shoulder. “You wish us to prove there are no terrorists lurking in Hogwarts? How shall we do so?”

“We were just _attacked by elves!”_ roared Dawlish, spittle flying everywhere. “A fucking _rainbow_ _phoenix_ drove away my dementors!” 

Severus, on Dumbledore’s other side, folded his arms. “You are suggesting there is another phoenix on Hogwarts grounds?” 

“No—it was a patronus, Snape!” 

“Dawlish,” said Dumbledore, “you know as well as I do that it is extremely rare for patronuses to take the form of a magical animal, and furthermore are never colorful. I know you know this, as I oversaw your defense exam myself.” 

Dawlish drew himself up. “I demand to see every elf in the castle right now, with their employment contracts.”

Dumbledore inclined his head. “Very well. But you will have to come back in eight days’ time. You see, it is winter holiday, and my employees are on leave.” 

“On leave!” Dawlish shouted. “On leave! Your employees are attacking ministry officials on Hogwarts grounds!” 

“This cannot be,” said Dumbledore, “as all of my elven employees chose to holiday elsewhere, and as Hogwarts is longer harboring so-called “liberated elves.” I have no clue who “attacked” you, Dawlish, but you were the ones stalking my grounds at five in the morning two days after Christmas. With your talk of rainbow patronuses and the simple fact that dementors induce altered states of mind, I cannot help but conclude ….” 

“What are you implying!” 

Severus stepped forward. “He implied, Dawlish, that you are deluded. Now get off Hogwarts grounds.” 

“I have leave to be here!” 

“Yes, but do you have the poor sense to remain?” 

With a snarl and a snap of his robes, Dawlish whirled around, shooting one more poisonous glare over his shoulder before leading his aurors, limping and dazed, from the castle.

A few beats passed, and then Dumbledore slumped, hand on his forehead. “I am too old for this.” 

“Chin up,” said Minerva, slapping his back bracingly. “You wanted to go fight a dragon this holiday, Albus. I’d say this is a decent alternative.” 

  


“Snakeheart?” hissed the basilisk, as he dragged himself into the den. “Is everyone alright?”

“Yes, somehow,” he said, curling by its head. The babies were tangled together, deeply asleep, in the center of the den. “There were these things called dementors.” 

The basilisk hissed long and low and angry. “Anathema."

“What do you know about them?”

“They do not think. They do not feel. They only consume. Snakeheart, do not try them. They are nothing you can reach through word or deed. They will leave you a shell of anything resembling a being. Stay far away. ” 

Harry shivered, remembering that woman screaming in his mind. “I’m so tired. Maybe I won’t go back for the spring term.” 

The basilisk laughed gently. “So you say every winter and every summer, Snakeheart. I am told mammals do have the ability to discern behavioral patterns.” 

“Rude,” Harry said, pulling his blanket over himself. “Very rude.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 Next up: An important announcement


	2. Back to School

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Absolutely thrilled by the response to Limmy's patronus, I've bee waiting ... er, 320k words now to debut it : D

Harry skulked out of Myrtle’s _empty_ bathroom, pulling Áwere off and stuffing it in his bag. Myrtle’s absence could only mean one thing: the feast had already started, and he was late.

It wasn’t _his_ fault. He would ask anyone who said so how _they_ would respond, when begged by three precious hatchlings to read just one more story while they fell asleep on his lap.

Definitely not his fault. But that meant he had to get to the great hall right away. He began to jog, glancing outside—it was so hard to tell the time in January, the days went dark so quickly ….

“Potter?!” 

Harry skidded around, to see Minerva gaping at him from an open doorway. “Er, hello, Min—uh, McGonagall.” 

_“Professor_ McGonagall,” she said. “What in Morgana’s name are you doing here?” 

“I know I’m late for the feast,” Harry said, “I’m sorry—” 

“Late for the feast? The train hasn’t even come into the bloody station yet!” 

… Oops. 

“Oh, well,” Harry said, desperately spinning words out of somewhere. “You see, I spent Christmas with Sirius and Remus and they dropped me in Hogsmeade and the train wasn’t there when we arrived so I assumed it had already been and gone—but when I got here I wanted to go visit Myrtle first off, even though I was supposed to go straight to the hall, so that’s why I’m here. Early.” 

She stared at him. “Potter. Your father was an abominable liar. And I mean simply abominable. Once, he told me had been sneaking into the prefect’s bath to, and I quote, ‘assist with his gradual but painful transformation into a mermaid.’”

Harry giggled. “Um … okay?” 

“Meaning,” McGonagall said, pressing two fingers to her temple, “you must have inherited the skill from someone else, leading me to seriously reconsider how often I took Lily Evans at her, at times severely far-fetched, word.”

“Oh.” 

She shook her head in exasperation. “Come with me, Potter.”

“Am I in trouble?” 

“No. It’s not as if I can _punish_ you for being here a few hours early—you are a castle ward, after all. But nor can I leave you to wander the castle. Hogwarts is not as safe at the moment as it used to be, Potter. The ministry has given aurors leave to enter the grounds at any time, and to enter the castle at any time that school is not in session. And _that_ is not for another three hours, officially.” 

Harry gulped, thinking of Dawlish and his dementors. “I’ll come with you.” 

“Very good. I am sorting through old transfiguration notes; you may help if you wish.” 

“Alright.” 

Inside the old classroom, notes were scattered around every surface; some even tacked to the walls and floating near the ceiling. “Unfortunately, finicky work is always best done manually,” said McGonagall. “If I were to use a spell to isolate a single word based on my handwriting, it would overlook anything, for example, written in script. You’re a smart lad, so I trust you to take your time—we are searching for anything that has mention of transfiguration of the body or soul.” 

“Right,” Harry said, leaping and grabbing a scroll floating above his head. “Whose notes are these?”

“The past professors of transfiguration at Hogwarts. A deeply disorganized bunch. Anything promising goes _here,”_ she pointed to a box, “and the rest, see if you can sort it by the author’s last name in these boxes, but if there is no name, just stick it in this one.” 

“Alright.” Harry evaluated the paper. _Onerus Walsh,_ _Further Meditations on the Color-Size Principle._ A brief evaluation revealed nothing to do with bodies or souls. He placed it in Walsh’s bin. 

“Min—er, McGonagall?” he asked, after going through ten or so scrolls.

She glanced up at him. “Do I look like a school crony to you, Potter?” 

He flushed. “Um. Professor McGonagall?” 

“That’s better. What?” 

“Well, do you ever let students help teach?” 

“Occasionally,” she said, tossing a scroll in Albatross Keeley’s box. “Are you interested in student teaching, Potter?” 

“No, actually. I was wondering about Myrtle.” 

She blinked at him. “Myrtle?”

“Myrtle Warren? The ghost?” 

“Oh—Myrtle, yes.” Her look was inscrutable.

“Binns is a ghost, and he teaches full time,” Harry said, ticking off his point on a finger. “Myrtle always wanted to be a teacher. And she was really good in Hagrid’s class. _And_ … she needs a purpose. When I’m gone.” 

“When you’re gone? You believe yourself to be her mortal anchor?” 

Harry shrugged. 

Minerva considered these things, delicately adjusting her glasses. “How old is Miss Warren?” 

“Thirteen.”

“A bit young for student teaching.” 

“Well, she’s never going to get any older,” Harry pointed out. “Please just give it a try, professor? She’s really smart. She’d do a good job.” 

Minerva tapped a finger on her desk thoughtfully. “Very well, Potter, I shall think about ‘giving it a try.’” 

“Really? Thank you!” 

She held up a hand. “Don’t thank me yet.” 

“Too late,” Harry grinned, and snatched another scroll from the air.

“Alright, Potter, I think it’s about time.” Minerva yawned and tossed a scroll into the “unspecified” box. 

“Alright,” Harry said. “Professor, what’s Aelgen’s Paradox?” 

“Something you are far too mischievous to warrant telling,” said Minerva, taking the scroll from him and throwing it into Aida Saintsal’s bin. “Off we go.” 

Harry followed her down the stairs to the entrance hall, which was full of students filing towards the great hall for dinner. “Thanks, professor,” he said, spotting the gaggle of his friends. He took the bannister down, to Minerva’s half-hearted protest.

“Harry!” exclaimed Hermione, as he shoved his way into the middle of them. “You weren’t on the train _or_ the carriages!”

“Yeah, I misjudged things,” Harry said, hugging everyone. “C’mon, I’m starving.”

They entered the great hall, but before the Gryffindors could split to their table, Harry took Hermione’s hand. She looked at him curiously. “Hermione—the thing you and Limmy worked on. It saved our lives.”   
  
She beamed. “Oh, I’m so glad. I don’t know why, it just felt important somehow. Oh—but that means you were near dementors!” 

“Shh! Don’t, er, tell anyone that?” 

“Alright,” she said worriedly. “Did you eat chocolate, though, Harry? You’re supposed to eat chocolate after seeing dementors.” 

“I didn’t know that,” said Harry, “but I did eat chocolate. Sirius got me kilos of it for Christmas; I’ve been having it for dinner.”

She frowned at him. “Harry, that’s incredibly bad for your teeth. What about dental hygiene?” 

“I see a dentist,” he muttered. “Anyway, I won’t do it every night. I’ll run out soon.” 

“Potter!” hollered Daphne from the Slytherin table. “Get over here!” 

“Coming!” 

“Ugh, finally,” Daphne said, bouncing in her seat next to Draco. “Harry, did you get permission for me yet? Did you?” 

“Sort of?” Harry sat down beside her, and across from Draco and Dobby, who had joined them. “Star’s mum wants to talk to your mum first. I’m to give you her address so your mum can owl.” 

“Great!” Daphne said excitedly. 

“Where are you going?” Draco asked, leaning forward with a frown. “Can I come?” 

“Er, just to visit one of my friends,” Harry said. “And probably not, I think it’s a one-person exception, and that’s just ‘cause I’ve been badgering so much.”

Draco crossed his arms. “That’s not fair.” 

Daphne rolled her eyes. “Life isn’t fair, Draco.”

“It isn’t being a good idea for you to goes anywhere right now anyway,” Dobby said, patting him on the arm. “With your father at large.” 

Draco sighed. “I suppose you’re right.” 

“Draco,” said Dobby, nodding towards the staff table. “You’s on.” 

“Oh!” Draco rose from his seat and left them without another word.

“Where are you going!” Daphne called. There was no response. “Where’s he going?” she asked Dobby.

Dobby grinned. “You is seeing.” 

At the head table, Dumbledore stood and rapped his wand on his podium for attention. “Good evening, students, good evening. Only a few announcements. I am sure you have all seen in the papers that Hogwarts is no longer a harbor for the ministry-designated “terrorist” organization known as the liberated elves—as such, all elves you see around the castle are staff or their dependents. 

“Furthermore, the ministry has given aurors leave to enter the school _grounds_ whenever they feel prudent … the grounds, and not the castle. No auror is to be admitted to the castle when school is in session. You are _not_ required to speak to any auror who approaches you on school grounds. If you feel an auror is pressuring you into speaking or attempting to get you to reveal information, make your way into the castle and find a professor at once. Additionally …” 

Dumbledore sighed, and for a brief moment his face looked unutterably weary. “Additionally, the ministry has given aurors leave to collaborate with the beings known as dementors. Dementors are prohibited from coming within one hundred feet of Hogwarts students. Even so, please take the utmost safety. The aurors are not required to give any warning of dementor presence on school grounds. 

“All outdoor classes will now be taking place indoors when possible. Herbology students will assemble in the entrance hall and be escorted to class. All quidditch practices will be supervised by Madam Hooch. If not for the fact that I believe strongly in the necessity of youthful freedom, I would be imposing restrictions on even exiting the castle without adult supervision. Please, please, keep these measures in mind. If you feel unsafe, find a professor.” 

There were several moments of heavy silence. Harry felt slightly sick. 

Dumbledore clapped his hands together, creating a shower of green sparks. “Now! On to happier things! Mr. Draco Black would like to make an announcement to the school population!” 

Murmured whispers about Draco’s name change flurried across the house tables, and then Draco was climbing nervously up to the podium. He was much too short to reach, so Dumbledore conjured a stool for him to stand on. He looked back briefly at Narcissa at the house table, and then folded his hands and addressed the hall.

“Yes, hello, everyone. Please listen carefully. I’m pleased to announce the commencement of Hogwarts School’s very first queer alliance. It’s a club for queer students, staff, and professors, and those who support them. Um. I’m the president. So’s Lovegood. We are co-presidents, that is.” Draco tugged at his earlobe, then re-settled himself. “Right. The QA is interspecies and intergenerational. Everyone is welcome. We’re going to have guests like Remus Lupin—” 

There was a hiss of excited muttering from the crowd. Draco straightened up a little. 

“And also a reading group. And we were going to do field trips but those have all been canceled, obviously. Anyway. We’ll meet Saturday afternoons in the ground-floor courtyard. If you have any questions, talk to me or Luna. Or Professor Flitwick, our faculty sponsor.” He cleared his throat. “Um, thank you.” 

Dumbledore led the hall in a round of applause, and Draco slid back into his seat, pink-faced and grinning.

“Good job, Draco!” Daphne said. “I’ll definitely come.” 

“I think it’s really cool,” said Millicent, leaning down from the table. “Nice, Draco.” 

Harry gave him a thumbs up. Draco beamed. 

Five of spades, eight of spades, king of hearts, king of hearts … king of spades? 

Harry frowned, glancing from his cipher sheet to the deck of cards laid out in front of him on his bed. _R-U-M-M-Z,_ they spelled. Looking through his remaining hand, he lay down a jack of clubs: _?_

The response was quick to come: two of diamonds. _Mirror._

Rolling his eyes, Harry picked up his mirror and whispered, “Stargazer Araeo.” 

Araeo’s dark, speckled face appeared in the reflection, frowning with irritation. “It says ‘rummy’,” he said. “As in, want to play?” 

“It doesn’t say rummy,” Harry argued, brandishing their cipher sheet. “It says rummz.” 

Araeo rolled his foggy blue eyes. “And you couldn’t have figured it meant ‘rummy’?” 

“No,” Harry snapped, before snorting with laughter. He fell back onto his pillows and held the mirror up over his head. 

Araeo’s frown turned into a fond smile. “Where are you?”

“Bed.” Harry turned the mirror around to show Araeo the inside of his bed hangings. “Everyone’s asleep, I think.” 

“We’re not!” shouted Blaise from the next bed over. “Because someone keeps giggling and talking to his dumb boyfriend!” 

Harry dropped the mirror in surprise. “Shut—shut up, Blaise!” he yelled. “It’s only nine o’clock! He’s not my boyfriend!” 

“Oh, sorry!” Blaise said. _“Spiritual heart-mate,_ then, much better.” 

Harry furiously resisted the urge to hex him. He picked up the mirror and peeked into it again, to see Araeo laughing silently. 

“This is why we have the cipher,” Harry hissed, pulling his pillow half-over his head. “Is your father okay?” 

Araeo nodded. “Yes. He returned this morning. He is tired but well. The el—ah, your friends, arrived safely. Our guests will join them as soon as there is the infrastructure.” 

“Good,” Harry said. He stared at Araeo for a moment, still not used to seeing him through the mirror. “This was the best gift ever.” 

“I am inclined to agree,” said Araeo, eyes soft. His fingertips came briefly into the reflection for a moment. “Are you ready for spring semester?” 

“I suppose,” Harry sighed. “As ready as I ever am. One of these days, I’ll have had enough.” 

“Ha,” called Draco. “As if.” 

Furiously, Harry put down the mirror and stuck his head out of the curtains. “Could I have a moment of privacy, please, from anyone in this dorm?” 

“No,” said Blaise, “because you’re in our _shared bedroom._ For Merlin’s sake, take it somewhere else, Potter.” 

“You’re all horrid,” Harry said, sequestering himself again. He looked down at Araeo in despair. “Back to the cipher?” 

“Back to the cipher,” agreed Araeo. “Talk to you tomorrow. Find a better place, Snake—ah, Harry.” 

It was just bizarre to hear Araeo call him ‘Harry.’ “Yeah,” he said. “Bye, Star.” 

Araeo winked at him, and his reflection vanished from the mirror. On the bed, their cards began to shuffle themselves in a showy bridge. Harry rolled his eyes, smiled, and picked up his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 Next up: someone unexpected :)


	3. Cuthbert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Sunday! : D

“Where are we now?”

“Shh. Fourth floor.” 

“Why?” 

“Shh. Told you. History.” 

“History of what?” 

“Shh. History of Magic.” 

“What kind of magic?” 

_“Shh!”_

“Who are you shushing, Harry?” 

Harry shrieked and nearly careened into the wall; Hermione snatched him deftly back. “Oh, honestly.”

_“Honestly!”_ Harry shouted. “Where did you _come_ from!” 

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Just down the corridor, obviously. You’re very high-strung lately, Harry.” 

Harry glared at her. “What are you doing, you have transfiguration right now, don’t you?” 

“Oh, I’ve already—” Hermione’s eyes widened. “I mean—yes, of course, transfiguration. Right, I’ll go in a moment. I just wanted to talk to you.” 

Harry subtly adjusted his scarf and tried not to giggle as Ifingr curled around his neck. “Yeah?” 

“Well, it’s just, do you have a way to talk to Limmy? With everything that happened I didn’t get a chance to see her again before she had to—um, to go.” She looked downcast. “I really miss her.” 

“Oh.” Harry bumped his shoulder into hers. “I miss her too, Hermione. And I’m sorry, but I don’t. Maybe—oh, maybe you could include a little secret letter for her in the paper, like Draco did for me.” 

“That’s a really good—hang on, that’s a _brilliant_ idea!” Hermione took him by the arms. “More than just—is that a _snake?”_

“No!” Harry furiously wound his scarf tighter about his neck. “It’s a necklace!” 

Hermione raised one eyebrow. 

“Okay, fine,” Harry hissed. “Come here.” He hauled her into a window alcove, peering uneasily out until the hallway was empty. “You can’t tell anyone, alright, but I’m a parselmouth.” 

She put a hand to her mouth. “Like Voldemort?” 

He nodded. “It’s something I was born knowing how to do. I, um, made friends with a little snake and it wanted to go to classes with me. Will you please keep it secret?” 

“That’s so sweet,” Hermione cooed. She jerked his scarf to the side a bit, face melting when she saw Ifingr looped around Harry’s neck, face tucked into its coils. “Oh, look at him.” 

“It,” Harry said. 

She frowned. “That’s rather dehumanizing.” 

“It isn’t human. Snakes don’t have gender.” 

“Then why not use ‘they’?” 

“‘They’ isn’t necessarily gender _less,_ Hermione, it’s just nonbinary, don’t you remember Draco’s last lecture?” They both took a moment to breathe a deep sigh of relief at the thought of Draco having a new audience for queer education in the QA. “It’s like this, right? Snakes are more like … they’re more like stones than birds.” 

She tilted her head. “Stones?” 

“They’re natural, they’re—elemental. Do you understand? Snakes _are_ , like stones _are_ , and stars _are_. Especially _this_ snake.” 

“What’s so special about … it?” 

“Nothing at all,” said Harry, covering Ifingr again carefully. It hadn’t said a word or moved an inch since being revealed. Pride welled up in him. “I’ve got to get to class.” 

“Harry!” Hermione reached out a hand, eyes wide and dark and caring. “It’s not so bad a thing, being born different. You don’t have to hide it.”

He smiled and clasped her hand for a warm moment. “One day I won’t. But that’s not the only secret I’m hiding. Thanks, Hermione.” 

__

_“What kind of magic?”_

Harry cracked open the door to Binn’s classroom just as the clock struck nine. Normally, this would not matter. Today, however, there was a voice he had never heard before speaking animatedly to the class, and Daphne and Draco turned to him as one with wide eyes from their middle row.

Hurrying to take his seat between them, he tried to understand what was happening. Who was the man at Binns’ desk? Had they gotten a new teacher?

“Ah, Potter, good of you to join us,” said the man, standing on top of his desk, hands on his hips. “I assume you were thirty seconds late because you were making the utmost of your short time as an embodied soul on this plane?” 

“Um …” Harry stared at him. The man was shimmering. His hands were sinking into his hips. His grin was a little too wide. He was a ghost. 

He was indeed Professor Binns.

“Well, Potter?” cried Binns, throwing an arm out to him. “Were you squeezing the juice out of your precious corporeal time like you were juicing the orange of life?!” 

“Um.” 

“Just say yes,” Draco hissed.

“Yes, Professor.” 

“Professor!” Binns cried, rising from his desk in a whirlwind of notes which scattered about the room and hit the first-row-ers in the face. “Professor! What a drab term! What a pale way to address a mentor, a _counselor_ —nay, a guide! From now on, I will answer to nothing but ‘Cuthbert’!” 

Harry looked at Daphne, her eyes huge behind her green frames. “What did you do?” she hissed. 

“Why do you think this is my fault?” 

“Everything’s always your fault!” she said, entirely correctly.

“Everyone!” shouted Cuthbert. “Pick up your schoolbooks! Pick them up, go on! Now _rip them in half!_ History isn’t read about, it is _experienced!_ From now on, we are _experiencing_ history, just like we experience life! For a certain definition of life!” 

“This book cost ten sickles!” protested Millicent. 

“Here!” Cuthbert took a random armload of his jumbled notes and dumped them in front of her. “It is the _intention_ that matters, Miss Bulstrode, in everything! And I _intend_ to teach you pupils, you blank slates, what history _truly_ is! Now, rip! Rip!” 

Gleefully, Harry tore the cover from his five-sickle-bin history textbook, the only one he’d never bothered to replace, for he was sure it wouldn’t matter one whit. 

“Yes!” shouted Vince suddenly. “Yes!” He clambered onto his desk and began tearing pages from his book, tossing them down onto Blaise’s head. “Stupid book! I’m going to do _all_ my textbooks!” 

“That’s the spirit!” howled Cuthbert. “This semester, we are going to _live!_ In the metaphorical sense of the word only!” 

“Myrtle.” 

“Hm?” 

“Don’t _hm._ Turn around.” 

Myrtle turned around, pouting. “Hey, Snake—don’t look at me like that! What did _I_ do! Oh, hello baby!” 

“Is it okay to talk?” Ifingr hissed softly.

“It’s just Myrtle,” Harry said. “Sure. Thank you for asking. And _you.”_ He pointed at Myrtle as she came over to coo over the snakeling. “He made us _stand on our heads.”_

“You told me to snap him out of it,” Myrtle said, glaring at him. _“You_ told me. It was _your_ idea.”

Harry sighed, defeated, and walked over to the sink, pouring Ifingr down into the basin. 

“Hey,” Myrtle said, turning her hands solid so Ifingr could coil around them. “Snake. I know what you did.” 

“What, got a massive headache from all the blood in my body rushing to my head?” 

Myrtle floated cross-legged in the air. “McGonagall offered me a trial position as a teaching assistant in History of Magic and Herbology. Just in first and second year classes for now.” 

“Myrtle, that’s wonderful” Harry said, grinning. “Did you accept?” 

She twirled Ifingr’s tail around her fingers. “Of course I accepted. Snake … I don’t know what to say.” 

“You don’t have to say anything!” 

“Because ‘thank you’ seems like too little, for the person who woke me up, became my first friend, avenged my death, got me out of my toilet, and gave me a purpose in death.” 

Harry crossed his arms. “I did, like, two of those things. And one of those is because it takes two people to be best friends. You got out of your toilet yourself, and you give yourself purpose. I’m just … facilitating.” 

She squinted her eyes at him, scratching Ifingr’s head. “Facilitating.” 

Harry nodded. “Facilitating.”

“Facilitating,” hissed Ifingr. 

She grinned. “Yeah, alright. By the way, you have to start calling me “Professor Warren” around other students.” 

He laughed bright. “I’ll never call you anything else ever again.” 

“Professor Warren,” hissed Ifingr. “Can I stay with you while Snakeheart flies?” 

“Oh, baby, I’m afraid not,” said Myrtle, pressing little ghost-kisses to its body. “Professor Warren has a class to help teach.”

“You can find your way home, right?” Harry asked it.

Ifingr wriggled in the bowl of the sink. “I don’t wanna! Snakeheart, take me to fly!” 

“You might fall out of my robes while I’m in the air; it’s too dangerous. Plus, there are dementors out there.” 

Ifingr sulked, sticking its head up the tap. “What are dementors?” 

“I’m not really sure. Creatures that eat souls.” 

“Do I have a soul?”

Harry considered the question, glancing at Myrtle, who just shrugged. “I don’t know. Ask the basilisk. When you _get home:_ now go, before someone comes in.” 

Ifingr huffed. “No one but Myrtle comes in here.” 

“Sometimes the twins do too,” Harry said. “Now go. I love you.” 

“Love you!” echoed Ifingr, and quick as a flash, disappeared into the drain.

“I adore that snake,” said Myrtle softly. 

Harry scratched the back of his neck. “I wasn’t sure you would, you know. After what happened.” 

“Oh, you mean after the basilisk killed me?” Myrtle asked, her neck twisting to the side, eyes going hollow. Then she grinned, and her visage settled back into normal ghostly alignment. “No worries, Snake. I’ve known for a long time that Tom was the one to blame. And really, who could resist eyes like those?” 

“Er, why do you have two brooms?” 

Harry grinned at Ron as he hopped off the banister, landing next to him in the entrance hall. “Sirius got me a _Firebolt_ for Christmas.” 

“A _Firebolt?”_ Ron’s eyes bulged. “Merlin’s pants—can I touch it?” 

“You can,” Harry said, passing it over. “But also, I don’t need two brooms. Do you want my _Nimbus?”_

Ron stared at him. His hands clenched white-knuckled over the _Firebolt’s_ handle. To Harry’s surprise, his gaze was completely blank. “Are you joking?” 

Hesitantly, Harry shook his head. “I just thought you might like a broom of your own instead of using the school brooms.” 

“Do you … know how much the _Nimbus_ costs?” 

“Well yes, I bought it in the first place.” Harry shrugged. “But the _Firebolt_ is a better seeker’s broom, and the _Nimbus_ is a generalist, so I thought you might like it—since you’ve been practicing keeping, as well as chasing.” 

Ron’s face was going very red. “I don’t want—I don’t need your charity, Harry. I can get by on the school brooms.” 

Harry blinked. “Charity?” 

Ron frowned deeply. “Don’t be stupid.” 

That was right—Ron’s family didn’t have much money; he remembered Ron’s frequent spats with Draco in the early days of their friendship. Hurriedly, he said, “It’s not charity. I just thought you’d like it. Um, money doesn’t really … make a lot of sense to me. I don’t care about it very much.” 

“Because you’re filthy rich!” Ron burst out, face bright red.

Harry scowled at him. “Because I never _had any in my entire life_ until I found out my dead parents left me some in first year. Ron, I’d never even _bought_ anything until I had to start looking between flagstones for coins to buy my terrible used school books with. I live in a—” He bit his lip. _A cave,_ he’d been about to say. “Look, if you don’t want the broom, I’ll just give it to Ginny.” And held turned to go.

“What!” Ron yelped. “No way, I’m her older brother! Oh, Merlin, fine. Harry. Sorry, alright, I forgot.” 

Harry turned back, smiling. “So you do want it?” 

_“Yes,_ I want it,” Ron groaned, a smile growing over his face. He swapped Harry’s _Firebolt_ back and ran his hands over the _Nimbus_ with stars in his eyes. “Merlin, Harry. Thank you.” 

“Are you _joking?”_ shrieked Ginny, flying down the banister to catapult into Ron’s shoulder. “Potter, you gave my dumb brother your broom? You have a _Firebolt?”_

Harry grinned, propping it over his shoulder. “That’s right. Ready to see what it can do?” 

Ginny scowled ferociously as they headed out of the entrance hall. “You could have the fanciest broom in the world, Potter—” 

“He does,” interrupted Ron.

“—but I’m still going to beat you,” she finished. 

“Oh _Ginevra,”_ Harry teased, Ginny’s face going as red as Ron’s. “It’s the flyer, not the broom.” 

Ginny punched him.

It was a cold, clear January day outside, and Harry mounted his _Firebolt_ immediately, drawing lazy circles around Ron and Ginny as they made for the pitch. 

They were not, technically, supposed to be out unsupervised, but it was too beautiful a day to waste. There was not a dementor or auror in sight, only a bright blue sky and their own thick, cloudy breath. They liberated a broom for Ginny and a quaffle from the broom shed, and took to the air.

Harry had missed this. Quidditch was one thing that his other friends couldn’t join him for. The thought of Ava or Araeo on a broom was laughable, and Limmy could care less about sports. 

They played catch for a while and then moved on to drilling passing sequences, and then Ron posted up in front of the goals for Ginny and Harry to fire on him. He was hoping to make keeper next year.

After he had blocked five or six shots, Ginny pulled Harry to the side. They hovered, brooms clenched between their legs, and talked strategy.

“Right,” Ginny said, throwing a glance back at a gloating Ron spinning slowly upside-down. “He’s going to be insufferable unless we start scoring.”

“What do you suggest?” Harry asked, tucking his sweaty hair behind his ear—his braid was coming undone. 

“Remember that feint we practiced before winter holiday?” 

“The tailspin?” 

“Exactly.” She raised an eyebrow. “Think you can manage it without falling off your broom?” 

“Hey!” Harry said indignantly. _“You_ were the one who gave me an extra half-spin!” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Ginny passed the quaffle between her hands. “Ready, Potter?” 

“Bring it on, Weasley.” 

They faced Ron from half-field, who straightened up and scowled at them. “Done gossiping?” 

Ginny just pointed menacingly at him. She counted down softly under her breath: _“Three, two, one—”_

They broke away from each other, Harry high and right, Ginny low and left. At quarter-field, they fell towards each other in a steep arc, and Ginny passed him the ball—but she didn’t release it, she held on as she flew sharply backwards, and when she let go he was spinning rapidly through the air. 

Ron let out a shout of surprised laughter, and Harry, growing dizzy, managed to launch the quaffle exactly where he knew Ginny would be—just under him. Ron was so focused on Harry pinwheeling through space that he missed the quaffle sailing right over his head.

“Alright,” Ron groaned, “that’s obviously cheating—” He cut off sharply. 

“Ron?” Harry asked, slowly spinning to a halt. “Is everything—” 

But everything was going dark and cold. 

“Get to the ground!” shouted Ginny, from very far away. 

Harry couldn’t even see _her_ anymore, much less the ground. He was shivering, shivering so hard his teeth were chattering and his hands were clenching around his broomstick—

Someone was screaming. A woman was screaming. He was screaming. 

_T R A D E_

His hands _hurt,_ he tried to pull them away but he couldn’t—they were stuck to the trunk of the tree. 

**_T R A D E_ **

No, no, no—not again, not again—he yanked backwards with all his might, and his hands came free from the tree at last—

He was falling into screaming, icy blackness. 


	4. Pensieve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger, folks :) (Not actually; I love cliffhangers haha)

Harry came down hard against a familiar broad chest, Hagrid’s knees buckling under his weight. “Stars above,” Hagrid groaned. “Harry, Harry, are you awake? Say something.” 

Where was he? What was happening? “What’s—” 

“Oh, thank Merlin.” 

“Back to the castle!” shouted Minerva, who was there too, apparently. “Weasleys, Potter, Hagrid, at once! To the headmaster! _Expecto patronum!”_

Hagrid rose again and began to run. Harry shook his head furiously, trying to remember what was happening. “Hagrid, what’s—? Put me down!” 

Instead, Hagrid gripped him tighter. 

“Harry?” Ginny gasped, from somewhere below Hagrid’s right elbow. “Are you alright?” 

“Yes, where’s Ron—” 

“I’m here,” Ron said, from Hagrid’s other side. “I have the brooms.” 

Harry twisted until he could see behind Hagrid’s shoulder, saw Minerva’s silhouette, casting something silvery as those creatures, those dementors, hovered on the pitch—three of them, facing Minerva’s glimmering cat—

“Hagrid!” Harry shouted, struggling in his arms. “We have to help!” 

“We help by getting Dumbledore,” Hagrid said grimly. “None of us can do anything against _them.”_

Ron and Ginny sprinted ahead and held the castle doors open, and Hagrid barreled inside, Harry in his arms. The moment they were in, Hagrid dropped Harry gently to the ground—Ron and Hermione caught him—and slammed his staff into the flagstones, roaring, “ALBUS DUMBELDORE!”

A great ripple of magic flowed through the castle. Dumbledore spun into existence in an instant, wand already drawn. “Hagrid!” 

“Dementors at the pitch,” Hagrid reported. “Attacked Harry, Minerva’s there alone.” 

Dumbledore’s face was a thundercloud. He seized Ron’s shoulder. “Mr. Weasley, take the others to my office. The password is ‘treacle tart.’ Do not leave until I come back. Wait for us.” 

And, Hagrid at his side, they dashed back towards the pitch. 

“Come on,” Ron said grimly, tugging Harry along. “Hurry.” 

Harry between the two Weasleys, they made their way to Dumbledore’s office, the gargoyles silently lifting the door for them at Ron’s command. 

The portraits on Dumbledore’s walls watched them silently. Not even Fawkes was here. 

“Ginny,” Ron said gently. “Hey, come on, sit down. You too, Harry.” 

Ginny was crying, silent shudders rocking through her body. Though he was woozy still, Harry helped Ron guide her into a chair, rubbing her shoulder. “What happened?” he murmured, as Ron forced him up again and into a chair of his own, disappearing for a moment. 

“Dementors,” said Ron, coming back with a chocolate bar pilfered from somewhere. He broke it into three pieces, and Harry wasted no time shoving his in his mouth. “Don’t know where they came from, even. Just showed up, and then you were falling—Harry, what happened? Why did you fall?”

Harry shook his head. “I can’t even remember. I thought I was somewhere else.” 

Ginny took a shuddering breath around her chocolate. “I felt so cold, like I’d never be warm again. Are _you_ okay, Ron?” 

Ron was very pale, his hands trembling faintly. “I’m okay,” he said. “The dementors, though, Dumbledore said they’re not supposed to attack students!” 

Harry scrubbed his face with his hands. A horrible thought occurred to him: maybe this was his fault. Maybe the dementors recognized him from before. He felt cold and clammy and horrid and useless.

He stood up, pacing slowly around the room as Ron comforted Ginny. He wished Fawkes was here. He wanted the basilisk, or his aunts, or Araeo. Sniffing, he passed by Dumbledore’s shelves of trinkets, spinning softly and emitting light. He watched them mindlessly for a moment, enchanted by their slow movements. 

And there a low shelf … oh. He’d seen that before.

It was a stone bowl of milky-white liquid, within which indistinct forms moved. Two figures, he thought, and both of them were—oddly familiar, though he could make out no distinct characteristics. He leaned closer to see. 

“Harry,” Ron said, “be careful with that stuff.” 

Ginny looked over. “Yeah, you don’t know—” 

His nose touched the liquid and he didn’t even realize he’d gotten that close. And then he was somewhere else entirely. 

Somewhere else, with a familiar figure.

“Professor Trelawney?” Harry asked. “Where are we?” 

Trelawney looked blankly around them. They were in a dingy little room somewhere, curtain drawn over the window, a few bare candles lit. She looked like part of the bedspread come to life, in a faded purple robe and a huge oversized coat. Her eyes behind her round glasses were wide and unfocused.

“I don’t know,” she murmured. 

“Pardon?” said another voice.

Harry whirled around, to see Dumbledore sitting there on the opposite bed, knees pulled up, arms wrapped around them. “Professor?” 

“Sybil, what don’t you know?” He looked much younger, for some reason. 

“I’m not talking to you,” Trelawney mumbled. 

“Have you thought about my offer?” Dumbledore asked. “Of employment?” 

“Professor Dumbledore, what’s going on?” Harry asked. He waved his hand in front of Dumbledore’s face, but he didn’t react. He wasn’t really there somehow. Or _Harry_ wasn’t really there. Fear seized his heart; he waved his hand harder.

“He can’t see you,” said Trelawney.

“Pardon?” Dumbledore asked again.

Harry whirled around. Trelawney was staring, unfocused, through him. “Can _you_ see me, Professor?” 

“It’s just the Snake,” Trelawney said. “He’s watching.” 

“The snake?” Dumbledore leaned forward. “Dear Sybil, do you mean Voldemort?” 

Trelawney gave a high, sharp laugh. “Him, the Snake?” She turned amused eyes on Harry. “Can you imagine?” 

“I’m confused,” Harry whispered.

“Sybil,” Dumbledore said. “Please, come live at Hogwarts. I cannot bear to see you like this. You need stability, safety. Perhaps then the visions will settle.” 

Trelawney blinked, eyes focusing on Dumbledore. “Yes, I—I did come for that reason. To say I accept.” 

“I am so happy to hear that,” said Dumbledore, honest relief in his voice. “So relieved. I don’t wish to scare you, but I have heard rumors that Voldemort seeks you—” 

“He’ll not like what he finds,” said Trelawney, and her eyes began to fog over lilac. Harry moved closer, intrigued despite his incomprehension of the situation—she was about to give a prophecy. 

Dumbledore could see it too. Eagerly, he leaned forward. “What won’t he like?” he asked quietly.

Trelawney’s eyes went pure lilac, staring right at Harry. _“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not…and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives…the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…”_

A chill shuddered through Harry. Trelawney came out of the prophecy with a gasp, falling forward onto her knees, breathing heavy. Dumbledore was still as stone opposite her. “Sybil,” he said gravely. “Do you remember what you just told me?”

She gave a choking laugh, the most _real_ sound Harry had ever heard her make. “Albus Dumbledore, I remember every word I ever say. It’s everyone else who seems to forget.” 

And then something fuzzed about the room, and Dumbledore and Trelawney shifted slightly, and Harry was back beside Dumbledore where he had originally appeared. 

“I don’t know,” murmured Trelawney. 

“Pardon? Sybil, what don’t you know?”

It was repeating. This wasn’t the present, it was something else, and Harry was trapped. Frantically, he tried to pull open the door of the room, but it wouldn’t budge. Nor could he open the curtains. Panic started to overtake him as Trelawney and Dumbledore continued their exchange— 

“Oh, my boy,” said a second Dumbledore, suddenly standing right beside him as he tried to wrench the grate from the fireplace. “How long have you been here?” 

Harry looked up at him in relief, and saw that he looked tired and drawn and sad, his hair messy and robe askew. “Only one go-round,” he said. “Where are we?” 

“A memory,” said Dumbledore sadly. “One I hoped you would never see. Shall we exit?”

“Yes, please.” Harry took his magical hand, and then they were out of the memory, back in the office. Ginny and Ron let out twin shouts of relief, hugging him. “I’m alright,” Harry said. “Sorry, sorry!” 

“You scared us to death!” Ginny shrieked. 

“Merlin’s pants,” said Ron. “Do we have to have _two_ incidents in one evening? Isn’t one enough for you?” 

“Sorry,” Harry said again, feeling disoriented and cold still. He turned to Dumbledore. “Is it safe?” 

Dumbledore looked graver then he’d ever seen him. “It is safe, for now. Severus is on his way.” 

When had that become such a comfort? 

“Professor, why did they attack us?” Ginny asked. 

Dumbledore shook his head slowly. “I have no idea, Miss Weasley. But rest assured it will not happen again.” 

“Why?” Ron asked.

“Because I will either see them removed from Hogwarts grounds by tomorrow, or see all students sent home. Now, let’s call your mother.” 

“What!” Ginny shrieked.

“Why!” Ron demanded. 

Dumbledore stared them both down. “Please take your seats, children. All of you. You have been attacked on school grounds; of course I must contact your parents. Drink your tea.” 

“What tea?” Ron demanded. But there was tea on the desk when they turned to look.

Reluctantly, the three of them curled in armchairs and drank tea and ate chocolate biscuits while Dumbledore stuck his head in the fireplace. Before he was done with his firecall, Severus came stampeding into the office, looking drawn and pale—paler than usual, making him appear ghostly rather than his standard vampiric. He lay a shaking hand on Harry’s shoulder and did nothing else for a long time, but it was enough for Harry to take a deep breath and feel a tightly-coiled tension leave his spine.

“Oh, Ron! Ginny!” 

“Mum!” they shouted, and they were up from their chairs and embracing a woman who had just come through the fireplace. Mrs. Weasley was a plump woman with cascading red curls, wearing a faded red dress and black boots. She clutched her children to her, pressing frantic kisses to the tops of their heads. “My babies,” she whispered, “attacked by _dementors,_ oh Merlin, thank god you’re safe—” 

“We were fine,” Ron said, muffled against her shoulder. “It’s Harry they went for.” 

Mrs. Weasley raised her gaze to look at Harry. “Oh—Harry Potter!” There were tears in her eyes. “Oh, love, you look just like your parents.” 

Of all the things Harry had been expecting her to say, that was not it. Something unidentifiable but profound lodged in his throat. “Um.” Severus squeezed his shoulder. 

“Please sit,” Dumbledore said, conjuring chairs for Mrs. Weasley and Severus. “The aurors should arrive soon.”

Severus scowled. “You truly think their presence will invoke any manner of productivity?” 

“I do,” said Dumbledore gravely. “I firecalled Kingsley Shacklebolt personally. And furthermore, the representative of the Board of Governors is also on her way.” 

Mrs. Weasley brightened. “Not Cynthia Abbot?” 

“Indeed. I have faith in Madam Abbot’s ability to, as it were, pull the ministry’s ear when it comes to the safety of students.” 

Kingsley Shacklebolt and Madam Abbot arrived within moments of each other. If Kingsley was the eye of a hurricane, Cynthia Abbot was the whirling winds about him that leveled towns. A petite woman who was nondescript but for the decibel at which she could make herself heard, she came in shouting and didn’t stop until she left, Kingsley at her side, to convene an emergency meeting of the Board of Governors. 

“Professor Dumbledore, I will be taking Ronald and Ginevra home for the evening,” Mrs. Weasley said. 

“You may have the weekend,” Dumbledore said tiredly. 

“No!” Ginny squeaked. “It’s the QA meeting on Sunday!” 

“Back by Sunday morning, then,” Mrs. Weasley said. “All right?” 

Both of them looked quite relieved to be going home. “Thank you, headmaster,” Mrs. Weasley said, gathering her children up. “And Harry, it was very good to meet you.” 

Harry nodded drowsily, watched them whirl away in a sort of exhausted trance. 

“Harry,” said Dumbledore, voice so utterly depleted. “We must talk about …” 

“Albus,” said Severus, “the boy is asleep on his feet. Surely whatever you must speak about can be postponed.” 

“Right … you are right, of course,” Dumbledore said. “Harry—sleep well.” 

Severus guided him down from Dumbledore’s office. “Tea or bed, Mr. Potter?” 

“Tea please,” said Harry, though he was exhausted. He was still cold down to his very bones. Severus ushered him silently to his office, gave him more chocolate and cinnamon tea and a blue throw blanket with a hole that fit squarely over his knee. He picked at the edges of it and tried to stay awake. 

“Mr. Potter?” 

Harry raised his eyes to Severus’ dark, exhausted gaze. “Why do I faint? When they come near? Why do I see things?” 

Severus shook his head slowly. “I can only hypothesize, Mr. Potter, that it is because you have … much darker memories, than most children. For that is what dementors do: they bring forth your worst fears and memories. I—I am sorry that this is the case.” 

“I heard a woman screaming,” Harry said. “I’ve heard her before, when I was dying.” 

Severus’ eyes snapped up. “Dying?” 

He nodded drowsily. “Once, I had a very bad fever. I almost died. I heard her then. Is it my mother?” 

Severus’ eyes were infinitely sad. “I don’t know. I hope not.” 

Harry knew that it was. “I heard my mum. And I heard the thing that almost killed me.” 

“The dark lord?” 

Harry shook his head slowly. “No. Something very old and very strange and very deep.” 

Severus nodded distantly, looking troubled.

“What do you think about prophecy, Severus?” 

Severus went completely rigid, face taking on a downright chalky pallor. “Prophecy?” he repeated, through thin lips. “Why?” 

Harry shrugged. “Just wondering.” 

“I—” Severus shook his head. “Prophecy has never done me any favors, Mr. Potter. It has only ever caused me grief. I would advise you to stay away from it.” 

Harry laughed. “Too late for that.” He sighed, staring into his teacup, and absently paraphrased one of Firenze’s teachings. “Anyway, prophecy doesn’t have intentions. It just is. It is the interpretation of prophecy that causes harm or good.”

“Very astute,” said Severus thinly, looking utterly disturbed. “Any more questions for me tonight?” 

“Only one,” said Harry, closing his eyes. “Can I sleep here? I don’t think I can make it back.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 Next up: past and future.


	5. Old History

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last scene in this chapter is one of the only ones in this fic I have actually agonized over doing justice. I hope it comes through <3

_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches … born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies …_

“Harry,” Hermione hissed. “Pay attention.” 

“Mhm.” 

“Harry!” Hermione nudged him in the side. 

Harry blinked back to awareness in the incense-filled attic classroom, swaying slightly. “What?” 

“Thank you for joining us, Peverell,” said Trelawney, uncharacteristically impatient. “Would you care to enlighten us with your response?” 

Oops. He wracked his brain, trying to recall what she’d asked him, but no luck.

“Um. Sorry, Professor. Can you repeat the question?” 

She sighed. “Very well. Please, Prewett, tell us why we use a crystal ball as a medium rather than, say, an upside-down spoon?” 

“Yes, Professor. Crystal balls are created from substances that are magically conductive, or come from powerfully magical places in the earth. It’s not _our_ magic that we’re using to See when we look into a crystal ball; it’s the magic inside the crystal itself. You could use an upside-down spoon, I guess, if the metal had powerful magic already.” 

Trelawney blinked, smiled, and said nothing more about his lapse. “Entirely correct, Mr. Pellinor. Now, I would like everyone to focus on their crystal balls.” 

He and Hermione leaned over their crystal ball. “So unfair that Ron got to go home instead of go to _divination,”_ Hermione muttered. 

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? You could too if you like. Just go visit the dementors.” 

She huffed at him, rolling her eyes. “Where’s your snake today?” 

“They don’t like the incense.” 

_“They? Plural?”_

Harry put a hand to his head. Honestly, none of this was his fault. It was the dementors’ fault, and the memory’s fault, for stealing his whole night’s sleep and leaving him drained and exhausted and still so very cold and also confused. He ignored Hermione’s look and put his head down on the desk, staring into the crystal ball as Trelawney walked them through the best way to gaze into the clouds within. Harry and Hermione’s ball swirled opalescent. In it, Harry saw Araeo’s uncanny gaze. 

He wished Araeo were here. 

_… and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not … and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives …_

There was no use denying it, he thought foggily, staring into the depths. What else would cause Dumbledore to look at him with such sadness in that memory? Who else had Voldemort marked the night he died? 

Idly, Harry traced his branching scar, remembering when it had burned. So long ago, when his head had split open and he had traded away a part of himself ….

_… the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies …_

“I’m going to dim the lights,” Trelawney said, voice a susurrus of fabric, a whisper of wind. “Look deep into the crystal balls. Let your mind empty, to be filled by the penetrating magic of the crystal.” 

Mocking murmurs and titters erupted. Harry tuned them out. He let his troubled throughs puff up and out like potions fumes. Trelawney moved among them, adjusting, interpreting, and he remembered her in Dumbledore’s memory. Frayed. Speaking to him. 

_Albus Dumbledore, I remember every word I ever say. It’s everyone else who seems to forget._

Did she remember that day? Did she remember so long ago, when she had seen bone and blood and stars? 

Hermione gave an exasperated little huff and crossed her arms. Harry blinked slowly. That day, Trelawney’s eyes had been lilac like her crystal ball. Her hand a claw, digging into his shoulder. Harry wouldn’t forget. Not him. The crystal ball swirled and swirled.

_T R A D E_

Not again. No, no, not again—but the coldness didn’t come, only the slow lilac swirl of the clouds. 

_unknowingly given—_

He had heard that before, hadn’t he? Where? 

_T R A D E—_

Why wouldn’t it leave him alone— 

_willingly sacrificed— **T R A D E—** forcibly taken— _

“Harry!” Someone jostled his shoulder. “Wake up!” 

Harry blinked. Lilac clouds dissipated from his vision. Hermione’s face was in front of his. “Harry, you fell asleep.” 

“Fell asleep!” cried Trelawney. “My dear girl, didn’t you see the crystal ball? Mr. Pucey was not asleep, he was Seeing.” 

Hermione snorted. “His eyes were closed. He was snoring. The ball wasn’t doing anything.” 

Trelawney crossed her arms. “Miss Granger, for the duration of this year you have been unremittingly skeptical and unwilling to open your mind to the possibilities—” 

Hermione scoffed loudly and stood up, scooping her bag from the ground. “Unwilling? Unremitting? Fine, then. I’ll spare you. And his name’s Potter.” And she swept off, her bag knocking the crystal ball into Harry’s lap quite painfully. 

The class erupted in murmurs, giggles, and whispers. Harry heaved the crystal ball back onto the desk, shaking his head fuzzily. 

“Mr. Podmore,” said Trelawney, blinking wide eyes at him.

“Yes, Professor?” He met her gaze squarely. What would she say to him? 

“Please join another group for the remainder of the lesson.” 

She swept off. Harry, sighing, moved over to Draco and Daphne’s table.

“Stargazer Araeo.” 

The mirror shimmered for a moment, two moments, three. And then a blurry smudge of a face appeared in the frame, sideways, blinking slowly at him. “‘heart?” Araeo asked, yawning hugely.

“Sorry to wake you,” Harry said, voice the barest whisper. “I couldn’t sleep.” 

Around him, the rest of his year mates were snoring. Inside his drawn bed hangings, he huddled under his acro-silk blanket, elflight hovering over his shoulder. 

“One second,” Araeo murmured. He fumbled around and lit a candle, and Harry could see him clearly. His face was creased with pillow lines, his white hair mussed. Harry felt sad homesickness tugging at his stomach and put his fingertips to the mirror. 

Smiling gently, Araeo placed his fingers against Harry’s reflected ones. “What’s wrong, Snakeheart?” 

Harry sighed, wondering how to start. “Prophecy,” he said at last. “I heard a prophecy about me that I wasn’t supposed to hear. I’m—upset.” 

“Human prophecy,” murmured Araeo. “So troublesome. I need not tell you the dangers of interpretation.” 

Of course not. All the same, Trelawney’s vacant words echoed through his head. 

“Tell me,” offered Araeo.

Slowly, Harry recited the prophecy. By the end of it, Araeo was sitting up straight, chewing on the end of a braid. They stared at each other in silence for a moment.

“How about that,” Araeo said, grinning. “I’m not the only one born under a prophecy anymore.” 

Harry rolled his eyes. “Come on, Araeo. It says I’m supposed to die.” 

Araeo raised one slow eyebrow. “Does it, now?” 

“Yeah, alright,” Harry sighed. “Someone could interpret that it says I’m supposed to die. Or kill Voldemort.” 

“And,” Araeo raised a finger triumphantly, “have you not already done that?” His eyes twinkled. 

“Oh.” Harry closed his mouth and contemplated that. “Well.” 

“Yes, _well.”_ Araeo scratched his cheek. “Neither can live while the other survives. Thus far, that has been true. Each time an aspect of Voldemort has lived, you have killed it. When you were a child. Then Quirrell. Then Riddle.” He spread his hands. “Honestly, Snakeheart. No heartkin of mine should be so quick to jump to conclusions about prophecy.” 

Harry grinned. “Yeah, alright. See, I should have called you yesterday.” 

Araeo grinned. “Of course you should have. You should call me every day. I’d call you, if I didn’t know it would eventually blow your cover.” 

Harry sighed and pulled his blanket over his shoulders more comfortably. “Almost got killed by dementors yesterday. Again.” 

Araeo went ashen. _“WHAT?!”_

“Shh!” Harry hissed, shoving the mirror briefly under a pillow. “Hush, Araeo!” 

Araeo’s dark skin filled up half the mirror—he was gripping it in his hands. “Snakeheart, come home. Go home. Any home, but preferably mine. Don’t _stay_ there.” 

“Dumbledore took care of it,” Harry said, ignoring the fact that he very much would like to be in any of his homes as well. “The ministry called them back tonight.” 

Araeo shook the mirror, making his face go in and out of focus. “Stop getting into danger!” 

“Yeah, alright,” Harry agreed. “I’ll just write danger a letter and tell it we’re through.” 

Araeo sighed and rolled his eyes. “I miss you.” 

“Miss you too.” 

They sat there in silence for a moment. Harry pressed his hand against the mirror, and Araeo matched it. Their heartbeats continued on, lonely. Harry wondered if he pushed hard enough, he could somehow reach through and take Araeo’s hand and their hearts would beat together again …. 

“Tomorrow Bane and Firenze will travel to the pool to meet the mer princes,” Araeo said, drawing his hand away. “My father is beside himself.” 

“In what way?” Harry asked, grinning. “Anxious? Scared? Excited?” 

“All of them at once,” said Araeo, rolling his eyes. “Even though this is just an introduction.” 

“It’s going to be brilliant,” Harry whispered.

“And to think, all because of two star-crossed lovers,” Araeo said, smiling. “It truly is romantic, is it not?” 

And there went his mood again, descending like a frost. Harry was so tired of feeling like his emotions were an out of control broom and he was just hanging on for the ride … but Severus’s stupid book said that was normal. In any case, Araeo caught his sudden glower.

“Snakeheart?” 

“Nothing,” Harry muttered. “I’m furious with them both still.” 

“Why? Why did it mean so much to you? It happened so long ago.” 

How could he explain to Araeo that to the mer, “long ago” meant as much as “yesterday evening”? That to him and Ava and his aunts, Salazar and Ifingr were as close in time as the present? That Salazar and Ifingr, once his ideal of a great love overcoming opposition, had become a troubled tragedy. That he felt like he’d personally been betrayed. 

If only Araeo were here to take his hand and feel what he felt. Then Araeo could explain it to him, because he still didn’t understand fully.

“They were—they were—they were _us,”_ Harry said helplessly. “You and me and Ava and Limmy. And then they weren’t, and they never were.” 

Araeo’s mouth pulled down. “I’m sorry, Snakeheart.” 

“I wish I could talk to them,” Harry sighed. “I just wish ….” He let it trail off. 

“Can you?” asked Araeo inquisitively. “Don’t wizards put people in portraits?” 

Harry sat up straight. Of _course,_ what was he _thinking?_ “Araeo, you’re a genius, I have to go. Bye.” 

“Bye,” Araeo said, eyes squinting in happiness. 

Body filled with midnight anticipation, Harry descended from the common room, elflight in front of him. The common room was deserted, the only noise the slow, low crackle of the smoldering fire. Though summer was approaching, the Slytherin common room was always cold.

There, above the fireplace: the ever-sleeping portrait of Salazar Slytherin. He had noted it and disregarded it once upon a time, because the painted figure never so much as blinked, let alone spoke or left the frame. It could almost have been non-magical but for the gentle rise of its shoulders.

He shoved an armchair over to the fireplace, clambered to the back of it, and hauled himself onto the thin mantle, teetering precariously on his knees for a moment. He clutched the edge of the frame and found his balance, then his seat.

His lilac elflight shone over the wan face of the sleeping founder. He had black hair pulled partially atop his head, a short black beard, and an deeply creased forehead.

Hello,” Harry said hesitantly. “Um. Are you awake?” 

Salazar’s glare could have melted ice, as he slowly opened his eyes. “Why, pray tell, has a _student_ elected to wake his esteemed predecessor … at this hour of the night?” 

“Because I can’t ever leave well enough alone,” Harry said. His throat was abruptly very tight. “Are you him?” 

Salazar blinked slowly, which portraits did not need to do. “Excuse me?” 

Harry curled his fingers around the bottom edge of the frame. “Are you him? Are you … Sal?” 

_“Sal?”_

Harry flushed. “Are you Salazar Slytherin? His … ghost? His spirit? Are you _him?”_

“Ah.” Salazar’s head tilted. “I am not.” 

Harry’s heart sank. “No?” 

“No. I am a sampling. A skimming, of the man who sat for my painter. I contain the surface of his personality, but not the depth of his knowledge.” 

Biting his lip, Harry met his eyes. “What about memories?” 

A glimmer of intrigue flashed in Salazar’s eyes. “Some. Scatterings of memory, conviction, history. Tell me, how many times can you copy a copy before it degenerates?” 

“Seven,” Harry answered promptly.

Salazar inclined his head. “Think of me as the seventh copy.” 

Harry ran his hands along the gilt curls of Salazar’s frame, thinking. He could hear the fire guttering below him, the low groan of the pipes. “Then … is what everyone says true? Do you hate me?” 

Salazar withdrew into the background. “Hate you? I have no clue who you are.” 

Harry picked at the edge of the frame, wondering if this had been the right course of action. His stomach was starting to curdle with trepidation. “Well, my mum was a muggleborn. Do you hate her?” 

Salazar’s eyes were dark and flinty. “I have never met her.” 

Harry stared at him, sudden anger surging in his chest. His fingers tightened around the frame. “But that didn’t matter to you, did it?” 

“No,” said Salazar, mouth tugging sideways. “It did not.” 

“And _does_ it?” Harry demanded.

“Who are you to interrogate me?” Salazar hissed suddenly, surging into the foreground again. “Some half-blood child? Who are you to think you know me, are entitled to my attention, my time?” 

“I am like you,” Harry spat back in parseltongue. “Snakeheart.” 

Salazar was utterly silent as he stared at him.

This was it, then. If this portrait could not even speak the snake tongue, then this was pointless. He let go of the frame and started to lower himself back to the armchair, heart thudding with disappointment and regret.

“Wait.” 

The slow sibilance of the snake tongue. He had never heard it from another human’s mouth before, even if that human was a painting. 

Salazar’s hand was pressed flat to the canvas, as if he would reach out of it. “You speak my tongue?” 

_“Our_ tongue,” Harry said, meeting his gaze. He pushed himself back up.

Salazar was silent for a long moment. Then he continued in parseltongue. “I am a copy. I am not like an original portrait. I cannot grow beyond who I was, who I am. What do you want my answer to be? Salazar Slytherin is dead, and his mind cannot change. Certainly not a scant copy of his mind.” 

Harry lent his head against the edge of the frame, wondering if he believed this. 

“Why did you come here, kindred?” Salazar hissed. 

That anger churned back up in Harry’s chest. “I’m not your kindred.” 

“We are kindred in soul.” 

“We aren’t!” He was clutching the frame again. “Do you even _remember_ him? Do you even remember Ifingr?” 

Salazar could have been a muggle portrait, so immobile was he. “What?” he breathed. “What did you say?” 

“Ifingr re Afinim Ril,” Harry said softly. “Or is he too deep a memory?” 

“How—do you know that name?” Salazar’s face was broken open, displaying absolutely nothing within.

“His many-greats niece is my cousin.”

“Cousins with a mer?” 

“You remember him,” Harry exclaimed. “You do!” 

“I—do,” whispered Salazar. “Of course I do.” His face crumpled from nothing, to bafflement … then to rage. “Yes, I remember that cursed name!” 

“Cursed!” 

“Yes, cursed! Twice, thrice cursed!” Salazar beat a fist against the canvas, teeth bared. “Get away from me, how dare you say that name to me, how dare you make me remember—” 

“My cousin was right!” Harry shouted. “You’re a coward, you’re a hypocrite and a bigot, and I hate you!” 

“You are no one!” Salazar shouted. “You are no one to say this to me! How dare you! Leave me alone! Don’t ever speak his name to me again—” 

“Fine,” Harry whispered. “Fine, I’m leaving. I thought—I don’t know. That you would be different. That you would want to know what happened to him. But I was wrong.” He started to scrambled down from the mantle. 

“Wait! Stop, boy, I command you, get back here!”

Harry scrubbed his sleeve across his eyes, glaring at the portrait. “What.” 

Salazar’s expression was twisted. “You know what happened to him?” 

“Yes.” 

“Tell me.” 

Harry took a deep breath and lent against the wall again. He curled a hand around the frame again, fingertips just barely brushing the paint. “He told everyone you enchanted him. Even so, he was imprisoned for a decade. He spent the rest of his life devoted to his work. He never married or had children.

“When it came out he’d given you an ancestral artifact, his family was shamed. I found the comb a few years ago and returned it … but now my cousins and aunts are fighting to make things right. Between humans and mer.” 

Salazar was silent for a long moment. “So what?” he spat. “When it came down to it, he betrayed me. You think I should care what his descendants are doing? I know nothing of them. I _knew_ nothing of them. We are separate _species_. Nothing good can come to us by colluding with their savagery.” 

“Do you really think that?” Harry asked, voice empty and distant. Why had he thought solace would come from this? “Is that what _he_ really thought?” 

No answer. Harry looked up. Salazar was staring firmly into the distance, lips pressed firmly together. 

“Don’t you remember the strawberries?” Harry whispered.

“Strawberries,” said Salazar distantly. And he put his face in his hands, black hair falling over his hitching shoulders. “Why are you here?” he demanded, muffled and gasping. “Why are you here, just to torment me, just to attack me? What do you want from me?” 

“I was only trying to understand,” Harry said softly, regret and shame pooling in his stomach. Why hadn’t Araeo told him this would happen? It was a fleeting thought, unfair, and gone again in an instant. 

“And have you achieved it?” Salazar hissed, body trembling.

“No,” said Harry. “I’m sorry. I’ll leave you alone. You should—you should go talk to the golden snake outside the library. It’s not good to be on your own.” 

For a third time, with a heart far heavier than before, he reached back down to the armchair with his foot, found the back, and slipped off the mantle. 

“Boy,” said Salazar wretchedly, hopelessly. “Don’t go. Stay. Tell me more. Tell me of his descendants. Tell me of his work. Tell me why he never—why he never—” 

Harry sniffed and boosted himself back up. “Maybe in a better time,” he recited softly.

“What?” 

“That’s what he wrote. For your story to wait for a better time.”


	6. The QA

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, alright, enough sadness!!! Have some fluff and hijinks and teenagerhood.

THE DEMIGUISE  


_THE PREMIER INTER-BEING NEWS SOURCE_

_EDITION 66 ✩ 9 Jan 1994_

_CONTENTS:_  
_B.O.G. OUSTS DEMENTORS; MALFOY ONLY DISSENTER_  
by Loupe  
_MINISTRY RAIDS THREE EMPTY SAFEHOUSES_  
by Superlative  
_TIPPY LOCKJAW: LEADING THE CHARGE AT LARGE_  
by Humdinger  
_WHERE WILL GOBLIN-ELF ALLIANCE TAKE US?_  
by The Demiguise Collective

  
_**NEW! LETTERS FROM FAR AFIELD:**_  
TO WIGGENWAND FROM SUPERLATIVE: _PLEASE ADVISE_  
TO HEALER FROM DREAMER: _LOVE AND HOPE_  
TO SA-NEK FROM NOLAVA: _TRIP TO SATURN?_

  
_SEND A COMMUNIQUE  
WRITE AN ANONYMOUS MISSIVE FOR 1 SICKLE (FREE TO NON-HUMAN BEINGS) _  
_50-WORD LIMIT_  
_NO PROFANITY OR LEWDITY_

Harry burst out laughing and yanked the paper open to the second to last page.

  
_Sa-nek: Mother X sends hugs and love. Please rescue from terrible nearly-aunt, working me to the bone. Thinking of going to Saturn for winter holiday. Count you in? Please pack for warm or cold weather; not sure of Saturnian clime. JUST US. No work, no mothers, no WORK allowed!! Aelisf!_

Harry read it again and again. 

“Brilliant, right?” Draco asked, shoving toast into his mouth. “Hermione’s idea. Say, will you look at my outline for this afternoon?” 

“Again?” Harry asked. 

“It’s the seventh revision.” 

Millicent, a bit down the table, snorted. “Draco, it’ll be fine, honestly. If you ask too many people to look over your outline, no one will be surprised.” 

“Then no one will be surprised when I mess it up!” Draco snapped. He scowled at them all. “I’m under a lot of pressure, in case you didn’t realize.” 

Dobby chose that moment to pop in, cup of tea already in hand. He looked rather tired, and wore a comfortable-looking plush robe. 

“Dobby!” Draco cried. “Read my outline please!” 

“Draco,” Dobby sighed. “I is reading it for weeks now. You is doing well today, I swears it.” 

Draco put his head down and groaned dramatically. “I can’t do this.” 

“There, there,” Dobby said absently, patting him on the back. “I’s just coming to say good morning, I needs to work on my application.” 

Draco scowled into his arm. 

“What application?” Millicent asked. 

Dobby smiled at her. “I’s applying to a university in Belgium that is accepting elves.” 

“Belgium!” Draco groaned. “Belgium!” 

Draco patted his back again. “I’s having university holidays, Draco. You summers in France anyway.” 

Draco let out an angry huff of breath.

“What do you want to study, Dobby?” Harry asked eagerly.

Dobby smiled at him. “International species’ rights, naturally. It’s a new program.”

“That’s brilliant,” Harry breathed. “I didn’t know you could do that. Study that, I mean. At university? How old do you have to be to go to university? Can I go?” 

Dobby chuckled. “Sometimes I forgets you don’t knows certain things. You is too young for university. You can goes after you’s graduating Hogwarts, but you haves to apply first.” 

“I do _knows_ things,” Harry snapped. “Merfolk goes to university when they is fifteen, instead of or alongside apprenticeships, in three year increments for a possible twelve levels. Is _you_ knowing _that?”_

Dobby’s ears lowered guiltily. “No, I isn’t. You’s right, sorry Snake.” 

“It’s alright,” Harry said, feeling guilty for snapping. Just like last night, just like the last few weeks, he couldn’t seem to settle into an equilibrium. He wanted to see Lobelia, but their next meeting wasn’t until next Sunday.

At least he could leave the castle. At least the dementors were gone. At least today was Draco’s QA meeting. At least, at least, at least. 

“READY?” Draco screeched from two feet away. 

“Stars, Draco,” Harry groaned, clapping his hands to his ears. “I was waiting for _you_ to come out of the toilet.” 

Draco crossed his arms. His hair was so artfully styled it looked like he’d used a freezing charm on it. “Well, I’m out now, and you’re making us late!” 

“Late for being thirty minutes early?” 

“Yes!” Draco grabbed his hand and hauled him down the stairs. The common room was empty but for Salazar’s portrait, who pointedly closed his eyes at Harry. 

Draco stormed over to the girls’ staircase. “GREENGRASS!” he hollered. “LATE!” 

“NOT!” Daphne’s voice echoed. “CALM DOWN!” 

“Argh!” Draco kicked the staircase. “These stupid things are so exclusionary! The QA’s first mission is blasting them all down!” 

“Draco, the QA’s not an army, it’s a club,” said Harry. “I don’t think Severus will let you destroy the staircases.” 

“They uphold a false binary!” Draco raged, in the throes of anxiety. Harry supposed it was better than having a panic attack. 

“That they do,” said Daphne, traipsing down the stairs with a rainbow bowtie on. “What do you think?” She tilted her head to display it. “I don’t know that _I’m_ queer, but I want to support you, obviously. Got it in muggle London when I visited Hermione over the summer!” 

Draco’s lip jutted out for a moment in a display of panicked emotion, and then he tossed his head and spun away. “Come along, come along, we’re late! Lovegood is waiting!” 

“We’re so early,” sighed Daphne, hanging onto Harry’s arm. 

Draco led them at top speed through the halls, up to the ground floor courtyard, Harry’s favorite area of the castle. Though it was a frigid January, the charm over the open-air garden kept it warm year-round. Foliage bloomed gently around sculptures, fountains, and benches, creating the impression of a very tame jungle.

Luna was there already, charming rainbow baubles to hang between trees. She wore bright pink robes, had no shoes on to show off her rainbow stockings, and had stuck a little rainbow flag into her bun to keep it up. 

“You’re late,” she said mildly, when Draco burst in. “I’ve only had the headmaster to help.” 

Sure enough, there was Dumbledore, delicately placing rainbow fairy lights on a sculpture of of a rearing unicorn with the tip of his wand. “Good evening, students,” he said mildly. 

“Oh, headmaster, hello,” Draco said, reigning himself in with difficulty. “Thank you for—helping?” 

Dumbledore finished draping a string of lights across the unicorn’s horn. “No trouble at all, Mr. Black. I won’t stay for the meeting today; I think you are feeling enough pressure without the headmaster evaluating. But I wanted to come and show my support nonetheless.” 

“You could stay if you wanted,” Draco said, twisting his hands together. “The point of the club is it’s for everyone.”

Dumbledore smiled gently. “Perhaps I will attend next week’s meeting.” He looked around at the riot of rainbows, smiling wistfully. “I must admit, Mr. Black, this is quite something you have done. If I’d had something like this when I was your age, or perhaps just a measure of your courage, my life might have turned out very differently.” 

Draco opened and closed his mouth, at a complete loss for words. 

“Ah, but that is the nature of youth,” Dumbledore said mildly, stowing his wand in his sleeve. “To show the old what we are meant to emulate, not, as we often delude ourselves, the other way round.” He smiled gently at them all. “Have a very good first meeting.” 

They watched him sweep away, silent.

“Draco,” Luna said, “My baubles keep coming out crimson instead of red.” 

Draco snapped to anxious attention. “They can’t be _crimson,_ Lovegood! What are you thinking!” 

Daphne turned to Harry in amusement. “Hide somewhere out of the way?” 

“Yes,” Harry said in relief. They found themselves a two-person bench in a corner and observed the chaos. Slowly, a few students began to filter in, congregating in groups or offering to assist an increasingly-frantic Draco. Filius, as their faculty supervisor, conjured up a table upon which he began placing drinks and snacks. 

“Harry,” Daphne sighed tragically, “my mum wants to meet Star’s mum before I go over. I think I’m not going to be able to visit anytime soon. Parents are so awful.” She looked incredibly glum.

“Oh.” Harry’s heart sank. “Well—that’s alright. It’ll happen sometime.” 

“But I really want to meet him!” Daphne groaned. “It’s not _fair_ you’ve got a secret boyfriend no one gets to meet; _I_ want to meet him!” 

Harry frowned at her. “He’s not my boyfriend. Why does everyone keep saying that?” 

Daphne blinked at him. “What? He’s not?” 

Slowly, Harry shook his head.

“Then what is he?” 

“He’s—you know what he is. My heart mate.” 

Daphne goggled at him. _“How_ is that separate from a boyfriend?” 

Harry stared at her. “Um. It’s just—we’re not—” _It’s just, we’re not, what?_ he thought. 

“Sorry,” Daphne said guiltily. “I upset you.” 

“I’m not upset!” Harry said loudly. Then he put his face in his hands. “Sorry.” 

“Oh, forget it,” Daphne said, kicking him gently. “This is Draco’s day, anyway. No whining on Draco’s day.”

They turned to look at Draco, pacing back and forth and twisting the by-now-ragged parchment of his outline between his hands. 

“Should we do something?” Harry wondered. “He looks like he’s going to faint.” 

“Maybe—oh, wait. Look.” 

Luna caught Draco’s arm in the middle of a spin, and said something quietly that made him hold still and listen. And then he nodded, smiled, and pushed his pink hair out of his eyes. He looked around and evaluated the students in the room—not that many, and most of them here as moral support, but some unexpected faces as well. Dobby sidled in, wearing a rainbow scarf, and gave Draco an enthusiastic wave and thumbs up.

“All right, everyone, hello!” Draco called. “Please, um, find a seat!” 

The crowed murmured with excitement as they took seats on the stone benches. Harry tucked his knees up under his chin and laced his fingers together. 

Draco and Luna stood in the middle and looked around at them all. “Hello,” said Luna. 

“Hello,” echoed the crowd.

“Er, welcome to the first meeting of the Queer Alliance,” said Draco. “Hogwarts has never had a queer club before. We hope to—um—” 

“To learn together, “ said Luna, smiling, “and have fun.” 

“Right,” said Draco, twisting and twisting his outline. “So—thank you all for coming. First off—” he looked down at his outline, and then looked over at Luna. And then he shoved the outline in his pocket and clasped his hands together. “First off we should all just meet each other. Why don’t we go around and introduce ourselves?” And he took a seat next to Luna on an empty bench. 

Daphne let out a quiet breath of relief. “Thank Merlin. I couldn’t survive seventeen sub-sub-sections.” 

Harry grinned, and watched Draco beam with pride as Cedric Diggory thanked him for organizing the club. “I’d have sat through them.” 

“Well, of course,” Daphne said. “But still.” 

“Yeah,” said Harry, and raised his voice to introduce himself. 

_It’s just, we’re not— it’s just, we’re not—it’s just, we’re not—_

Why, _why_ couldn’t he get out of own his head anymore? And why was this so hard? What did it matter what Araeo was to him, besides heartkin? That had always been the only thing that mattered. But now he couldn’t set the thought to rest; he niggled at it like a loose tooth, and it was starting to ache. 

A week later and he hadn’t settled the matter with himself. It was driving him to distraction. He’d talked to Araeo three times since and hadn’t brought up the issue; but he didn’t even know what the issue was.

And now he was late for charms, and Filius may have liked him but he didn’t like him enough to not dock points. 

“Harry?” 

Harry spun around. He’d been so caught up in his thoughts he’d completely missed Percy sitting in a window seat: an unforgivable offense. “Hi, Percy!” 

Percy gave him a small smile. “You alright?” 

“Sort of.” 

Percy pushed his glasses up his nose. “Sort of? What’s wrong?” He shifted his bag aside to make room for Harry. 

Forget charms. Percy was worth a detention any day.

Harry slumped into the window seat and sighed dramatically, peeking at Percy from the corner of his eye. He looked amused, and a bit tired. “Are _you_ alright?” Harry asked. 

Percy shrugged. “Oh, yes. NEWTS, you know. Graduation. Jobs. Quite a few things to worry about these days.” 

“Graduation?” Harry echoed, abruptly feeling like a hollowed-out jack-o-lantern. “Whose graduation?” 

Percy narrowed his eyes at him. “Mine.” 

“You can’t graduate!” Harry sat up straight, panic zinging through his chest. “Why are you graduating?” 

“Well, for starters, I’ve been here seven years and have completed my Hogwarts education.” 

Percy? Graduate? Percy, who had always been there? Percy, who Harry had known since he was eight? A one-way acquaintanceship, but still. First Limmy, weeks away from him, and now Percy, off to galavant in the awful wizarding world.

“You can’t graduate,” he repeated stupidly in a whisper. 

“Harry.” Percy placed a hand on his arm. “Are you alright? You seem like you’re having a hard time. I heard about the dementors; do you need to see Madam Pomfrey?” 

“No,” Harry said. “I’m just—everything’s changing, and I don’t want it to!” 

“Ah.” Percy nodded. “That, I understand.” He smiled slightly. “Feeling out of control is the worst thing in the world, isn’t it?” 

Harry nodded vigorously, and then remembered something. “Percy, _you_ have a boyfriend!” 

“Er, yes. Oliver.” 

“Exactly! When did you know you—um—” 

“Liked each other romantically?” 

“Yes.” 

“Fourth year.” 

“Oh. _How_ did you know?” 

Percy looked out the window, eyes narrowed in thought. “Oh, well … I _didn’t_ realize, actually. Oliver asked me out and I hadn’t even thought about it before. He’d liked me forever, and I agreed to give it a try.” He smiled. “And here we are. I guess I started liking him back a few weeks after that. Once I got the idea in my head it sort of took root.” 

“Oh.” 

“Romance troubles, Harry? 

“I don’t know!” Harry furiously twisted the strap of his bag between his hands. “I have someone who’s really important to me and everyone thinks we’re boyfriends but we aren’t, but he’s still important to me in different ways than my other friends and what if he thinks we’re boyfriends and what if he _doesn’t_ and what if he doesn’t _want_ to be, ever, or he _does_ and _I_ don’t, except I don’t _know_ if I do, because I never thought about it but what if he’s _always_ thought about it—” 

Percy put a hand over his mouth. It shocked him so badly he shut up immediately, feeling his face grow mortifyingly red. 

“Harry.” Percy drew his hand away, smiling kindly. “You’re like twelve. There’s no need to worry that hard about something like this.” 

“I’m nearly fourteen!” Harry protested. “Just like you were!” 

“Alright, alright, not twelve. Do you want to know what I think you should do?” 

Harry nodded vigorously.

“Talk to him. Everything you’re worried about, just ask him. I know it sounds impossible and humiliating. But if he’s so important to you, can’t you talk to him about anything?” 

Hesitantly, Harry nodded. 

“There you go. Trust me, Harry. It’ll be alright. I know it seems like the end of the world now, but I’ve found it rarely is.” 

Harry took a deep breath. “Okay. If you think I should.” 

“I do." Percy looked down at his watch. "Hey, third years don’t have a free period right now. Are you skipping?” 

“Bye, Percy!” Harry shouted, and hurtled off down the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you Tuesday for some long-awaited conversations <3


	7. Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is a fic chapter but a series of important conversations, I ask you? Enjoy : )

“Alright,” Harry said. “So, Fleethoof. What year were you painted in?” 

Fleethoof crossed his clawed hooves delicately. “1503 CE.” 

Daphne wrote that down. “You’re really old,” she noted. “Very well preserved.” 

Fleethoof inclined his head. “Thank you.” 

“I would know, too, my father’s an art conservator.” 

“I didn’t know that!” Harry said.

She grinned. “Yep. Okay, what’s the next question?”

Harry evaluated the list. Cuthbert’s latest homework assignment was to interview a historical portrait. Some questions were more relevant than others. He had to admit it was a cool idea. Maybe not _sucking the dregs of life for the remnants of their flavor_ cool, but cool enough. 

“What was your painter like?” 

“My painter?” Fleethoof asked. He wrinkled his nose. “Who cares about _him?_ I thought you were interviewing _me.”_

Daphne dutifully scribbled down his response.

“Right, sorry,” Harry said. “What’s something you’ve found the most interesting about the passing of centuries?” 

“Hmm.” Fleethoof’s tail swished lazily as he contemplated the question. “I quite enjoy seeing the styles change. Unicorns don’t wear clothes, of course, but I find them fascinating. I quite miss the lace collars.” 

“Are you the oldest portrait in the castle, do you think?” Daphne asked.

“Oh, no, Miss Greengrass,” Fleethoof said. “There are those far older than I. But they are few and far between ... and there is Swiftwing to think of. He’s about as old as me.” 

“Really?” Harry asked. “You’ve known each other for five hundred years?” 

“More or less.” 

“And you _still_ care you’re separate species?” 

"Ah." Fleethoof's gaze went suddenly sidewards. "Well Mr. Snake. It _is_ the truth that we ... remain separate species indeed."

"... But?"

Fleethoof's tail flicked. "Mind your grammar, Mr. Snake."

"What's that?" Daphne asked suddenly, pointing into the background of the painting, behind the tree.

"Nothing at all," said Fleethoof primly. "Mr. Snake, _do_ get you face away from my canvas!"

"Is that a feather?"

"Absolutely not!"

It _was_ a feather, caught up in a rosebush. Harry looked up at Fleethoof and beamed. Fleethoof entirely refused to meet his eyes.

“Can you say more about your relationship with Swiftwing?” Daphne asked eagerly, quill poised. “For our homework, of course.” 

Fleethoof tossed his mane. “What is there to say? We are two fairly old denizens of this castle. Both oil paintings, of course. Under Dame Antonia Creaseworthy, we were once placed next to each other in the great hall. He has a very poetic mind, if at times a tad verbose.” 

“What about his eyes?” Daphne said, peeking up mischievously. “What color are they?” 

“Oh, a vermillion reminiscent of the deepest part of a fire.” Fleethoof caught himself and flicked his tail. “Really, Miss Greengrass. On with your next _actual_ question, please.” 

Daphne snickered. They asked Fleethoof the rest of their questions, and then he claimed to get bored and sent them away, though Harry saw him glance expectantly behind himself a few times.

They exited the library gossiping quietly under their breaths, and only two hands coming out to steady their shoulders stopped them both from colliding with Albus Dumbledore.

“Hello, Miss Greengrass, Mr. Potter,” he said, smiling down at them. “What a happy coincidence. I was just looking to have a word with you, Harry. Do you have the time?” 

“Sure,” Harry said, having expected this sooner or later. 

“See you at dinner,” said Daphne, and abandoned him. 

Dumbledore was gazing up at the library doors, the evening sun shining through them and tinting his pale pink robe in darker jewel shades. He closed his eyes against the glare, face relaxed for a brief moment. “Is Hogwarts not eternally beautiful?” he murmured. 

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, gazing at the stained-glass face of Mother Wisdom, her soft verdant eyes and gently smiling lips. 

“Walk with me, my boy,” said Dumbledore. 

“Alright.” They walked the corridors together, pausing to look at portraits and suits of armor. Finally, Dumbledore came to a stop by a view of the lake. 

“Tell me what you’ve made of the memory in my pensieve, Harry.” 

Harry sighed. He pressed a hand to the glass, wishing he could be in Deep Light right now, eating sushi with Ava. He didn’t know how to have this conversation. He didn’t know how to reconcile his secrets. 

But the time for secrets was coming to an end. 

“It was a memory,” he said eventually.

“Correct.” 

_“Your_ memory.” 

“Also correct.” 

Harry took a deep breath. Trelawney knew I was there, he didn’t say. “Voldemort was looking for Professor Trelawney.” 

“He wanted to use her prophecies to his own end.” 

Harry hesitated.

“Speak, Harry.” 

“So did you.” 

Dumbledore gazed out the window. “Correct.” 

“She spoke a prophecy …” Harry trailed off, then gathered his courage. “It was about me.” 

Dumbledore sighed out, slow and sad.

“It’s like what you told me after I killed Quirrell,” Harry said. “My mother’s love, Voldemort can’t touch me because of it. She gave me a power he knows not. But … marking me as his equal?” 

Dumbledore turned to him. Slowly, his gaze went to Harry’s scar. 

Harry touched it gingerly. He hadn’t expected this. “My scar?” 

Dumbledore looked away.

“Professor? You promised me.” 

Dumbledore nodded slowly, perhaps also contemplating the weight of secrets and promises and trust. “I promised,” he said at last, heavily. “What use is obscuring from you what you already know of? My boy, I always believed Voldemort to have made a final horcrux … the night he tried to kill you.” 

Harry let those words settle in his stomach, in his bones, in his heart. This, this was what he had been missing. This made it all make sense.

_T R A D E_

“He did,” Harry said slowly, piecing together long-ago memories that he usually kept locked up tight, because they had been the worst of times. The times the dementors dragged back. Back when the world had only been _fever._ “But it’s gone.” 

Dumbledore’s gaze jerked back to him. “Gone? What do you mean?” 

“I traded it away,” Harry said, “a long time ago.” And from his pocket he pulled his bone-white wand. 

Dumbledore took a step backwards, genuine alarm on his face. “What on earth is _that?”_

“My wand,” Harry said simply, letting it exist there under the headmaster’s gaze, though his instincts told him to whip it away. “A long time ago, my scar burned all the time. And then I traded part of me away, and it never hurt again. I traded it away to make _this.”_

“Make?” Dumbledore breathed. 

Harry nodded slightly. He closed his hand around the grip so Dumbledore could no longer see the basilisk scale. 

“To trade part of yourself away is a very dangerous bargain to make,” said Dumbledore, after a long moment of silence. 

“I make a lot of those,” said Harry. He stowed his wand again. “Do you believe me?” 

Dumbledore nodded. “I do, my boy. Disbelieving you has never seemed a productive route.” 

“So, I guess the only part left,” Harry said slowly, “is that either Voldemort kills me, or I kill him. And, er, I’ve already done that.” 

Dumbledore blinked at him. “You mean as a child?”

“Yes. In the forbidden forest. Quirrell.” 

“Oh.” Dumbledore tilted his head. “Well, I suppose you may be right, my boy. Perhaps.” 

_“To believe in one true future is arrogance and folly, and it will lead you to ruin,”_ Harry said, placing a hand over his robe, under which his Stargazer Band necklace always rested. 

“How wise,” remarked Dumbledore.

“I didn’t say it. I was really wrong about a prophecy before. And it all worked out for the best. I talked to a Seer about this one and he agrees.” 

Dumbledore shook his head slowly. “How is it, my boy, that you seemed to have lived so many lifetimes already? May I examine your wand?” 

Harry shook his head. “Sorry.” 

Dumbledore gave an easy nod. “Can you tell me about making it? Or is that a secret too?” 

Harry laughed. “No, that’s from the library.” 

Dumbledore blinked. “You learned how to make a wand … from the Hogwarts library?” 

“Sure,” said Harry. “There’s a guide. _So You Want to be a Wandsmith._ That's where I learned about the triplicate theory."

“The triplicate theory? Modern wands only use two components, my boy.” 

“Well, _I_ didn’t know that!” Harry. “Anyway, it works fine and it can do wizard _and_ elf magic.” 

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully and stepped away from the window. “I supposed you used elf magic to aid its creation?” 

“Yeah,” Harry said, following him. “And I had to find all the ingredients. It took a lot of energy to put them together.” 

“One day you must let me take a look at it,” Dumbledore said.

“One day.” 

“Myrtle? Myrtle, are you here?”

No response. For once, Harry was grateful his oldest best friend was not in her toilet. He made sure the door was closed and sequestered himself in the very last stall, locking the door and perching on the toilet tank. He balanced his pack on his knees and withdrew his mirror.

“Stargazer Araeo,” he whispered.

There was a flickering moment or two during which Harry could only see himself in the mirror, and was bombarded with worries about everything from his messy braid to the slight crookedness of his front canine tooth. And then the mirror shimmered into Araeo’s starry face, and the worries dissipated like so much dandelion fluff.

“Snakeheart,” said Araeo warmly. “It’s the middle of the day; you’re lucky I’m not with uncle.” 

“Hi,” Harry said, smiling even though his heart was galloping. 

“Hi,” Araeo echoed, rolling his eyes. “What’s going on?” 

“Oh. Well.” Harry sighed and shifted the mirror to one hand so he could rub his thestral and unicorn hair bracelet nervously against his cheek. 

Araeo frowned. “Snakeheart?”

“It’s silly,” Harry said. “Or, it’s not. I don’t know.” 

_I know it sounds impossible and humiliating. But if he’s so important to you, can’t you talk to him about anything?_

Araeo frowned and adjusted the mirror to view him more directly. “I’m getting worried.” 

Harry took a deep breath. “We’re heartkin.” 

Araeo’s gaze was troubled. “Yes.” 

“People keep asking if you’re my boyfriend.” Harry focused on a distant point behind Araeo and made himself continue. “I keep telling them you’re not.” 

“Well, that’s true,” Araeo said, tilting his head. “We’re not.”

“That’s what I thought!” said Harry in relief. 

“Heartkin aren’t necessarily romantic partners,” Araeo said, smiling slightly. “I forget it’s a centaur thing sometimes.” 

Harry smiled. “A centaur and basilisk thing.” 

Araeo laughed. “As in most circumstances, Snakeheart, you are the exception. We don’t have to be boyfriends.” 

“Okay,” Harry agreed. “Except … do you want to be?” 

Araeo blinked at him. “Well, I haven’t thought about it. Um. Much, that is.” 

“Me either,” Harry said hurriedly. “Until recently.” 

Araeo rubbed at his nose. “I’m a bit young to have a romantic partner.” 

“I think I am too! Maybe? I don’t know.” Harry groaned and squashed his cheek against his palm, resigning himself to blurting out every jumbled thought he'd had over the last week. “It’s more like … maybe I want to be eventually? I don’t know! Do _you_ want that?” 

“Can I be honest?” 

“Obviously.”

Araeo looked to the side. “Well, I've sort of always hoped we might be. Eventually. I haven’t Seen it or anything like that; I just … always had the idea. But I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to pressure you. And because it’s not really, er … completely because of the heartkin thing.” 

“Oh.” A great rush of relief buoyed him up, and he found himself blushing furiously. “Okay, good.” 

Araeo cast him a tentative glance. “Good?” 

“Really good,” said Harry. “Perfect, actually. Because it’s like if … if _Percy_ were to ask me, tomorrow, to marry him—” 

Araeo gave a sudden snort of surprised laughter.

“Listen!” Harry pressed. “Okay, if _Percy_ asked me tomorrow to marry him—I’d say no, right? Because … there’s you.” 

Araeo sobered, eyes going wide. “Oh?” 

"Um." Harry bit his lip, then barreled forward. "Well ... yeah. Because you're—you know—you're _you._ No, that sounds stupid. Here, just hold my hand and get what I’m trying to say.” He pressed his hand against the glass. 

Araeo chuckled and put his hand over Harry’s reflected palm. “Ah, I see now,” he said wisely. “I understand completely. You are trying to let me down easy so you can marry Percy Weasley.” 

“Araeo!” Harry giggled and pulled his hand away,. “You know what I mean.” 

“I do know what you mean,” agreed Araeo. “And _you_ know, I hope, that this conversation isn't a promise or ... or a decision. We will keep talking. Keep deciding what we are, together.” 

“As long as it’s together,” Harry said, and smiled. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	8. Summer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Virtual cookie to folks who guess who’s behind the special guest writers and the letter writers : ) (one of them’s a serious reach, I’d be very impressed)

**THE DEMIGUISE**

_THE PREMIER INTER-BEING NEWS SOURCE_

_EDITION 72 ✩ 20 Feb 1994_

_CONTENTS:_  
 _OVERSEAS PRESSURE TO EASE OFF ELVES_  
by Loupe  
 _TIPPY LOCKJAW’S BOUNTY SURPASSES SENSE_  
by Humdinger

_LETTERS FROM FAR AFIELD:_  
TO SUPERLATIVE FROM WIGGENWAND: _THEORY QUERY_  
TO STAR FROM SNAKE: _RUMMZ_

**THE DEMIGUISE**

_THE PREMIER INTER-BEING NEWS SOURCE_

_EDITION 75 ✩ 13 March 1994_

_CONTENTS:_  
 _HOGWARTS QUEER ALLIANCE STATEMENT: SPECIES EQUITY NOW_  
by Loupe  
 _THE QUESTION OF WANDS: WHEN?_  
by special guest writer Angkor

_LETTERS FROM FAR AFIELD:_  
TO DREAMER FROM HEALER: _BUILDING A HOME_  
TO PRINCE FROM CANIDAE: _JUST SAY YOU’RE WELCOME!!!_

**THE DEMIGUISE**

_THE PREMIER INTER-BEING NEWS SOURCE_

_EDITION 83 ✩ 8 May1994_

_CONTENTS:_  
 _UNJUST! ELVES ATTENDING AT QUIDDITCH CUP MUST SHOW EMPLOYMENT IDENTIFICATION_  
by Superlative  
 _SEVENTH EMPTY SAFE HOUSE RAID: WASTEFUL AND SHAMEFUL_  
by special guest writer Morph

_LETTERS FROM FAR AFIELD:_  
TO TELLER FROM LINGUIST: _DAI STIHÓ_  
TO MIRROR GHOST FROM MORPH: _EMPLOYED!_

Spring semester skidded by at top speed. The QA’s attendance grew and shrank around a solid core membership. Slytherin took the quidditch cup. Basilisk babies tagged along to classes, Myrtle as a teaching assistant failed to temper Cuthbert’s zest for life, and missives sped back and forth: from Harry’s fishing hook, from _The Demiguise_ , from owls and mirrors and Hermione’s incredible otter patronus. Dumbledore could be found perusing _So You Want to Be a Wandsmith_ over dinner. 

“Harry,” said Ron breathlessly, cramming himself into the Slytherin table. “Thank goodness, I nearly forgot you can’t get letters over the summer. My parents say you can come to the quidditch cup with us!” 

Harry’s mouth dropped open. “You’re joking!” 

“I’m not!” Ron said gleefully. “Come on, you’ll go, right?”  
  
“Of course,” Harry said, mind spinning. “Where is it? When?” 

“July fifth, but come stay at the Burrow on the third!” 

“Yes, alright!” Harry agreed. “I can’t wait!” 

“You too, Draco,” Ron said, turning to him. “And Dobby if he wants. And you, Daphne. My mum’s owling yours’. Hermione’s coming too.” 

“I’m already going,” Draco said. 

“But come to the Burrow,” Ron offered, a bit hesitant. “If you like. We can do a sleepover.” 

Draco blinked. “Oh—I suppose I’ll have to get extra Belgian chocolates while I’m in France next week, then.” 

“Brilliant,” grinned Ron.

“Are you all going?” Hermione asked, shoving herself next to Ron. “I can’t wait.” 

“But it’s quidditch,” Draco pointed out. “You don’t like quidditch.” 

“It’s a wizarding cultural activity!” said Hermione. “Anyway, if you all are going, obviously it’ll be wonderful.” She grinned at them all. 

“You’re surprisingly exuberant this evening,” Daphne noted. 

“Oh, I’m just happy to be done with classes,” Hermione said. 

“You’re _what?”_ Ron gasped. “Who are you and what have you done with Hermione Granger?” 

Hermione grinned apologetically. “I bit off a bit more than I could chew this year, is all. Twelve classes … eleven would have been fine. But I shouldn’t have added the second arithmancy course.” 

_“Twelve classes?”_ Daphne demanded. “Hermione, there’s literally not enough time in the day!” 

“Oh, well.” Hermione tugged on her ear. “I got special permission to use a time turner this year. To fit in all of them.” 

Draco pointed at her. “That’s why you’ve been popping up all over the place! With Limmy, too!” 

“She never told me,” Harry said, feeling betrayed. 

Hermione grinned. “It was our secret.” 

Harry scowled. He _supposed_ Limmy was allowed to have secrets from him, but he did feel personally injured. 

“Attention,” called Dumbledore from the head table. “Attention, students. Please join me in wishing one of our professors a fond goodbye. Professor Black has accepted a spellcrafting position at a French research university. We wish her the very best of luck.” 

They applauded madly, though Draco looked despondent. “I knew, of course,” he said morosely. “But I’ll miss her next year.” He perked up. “At least I’m holidaying in France now!” 

“You’re always holidaying in France anyway,” Ron hissed. 

“Wonder who’ll they’ll get next year?” Daphne asked lightly. 

“Remus Lupin could come back,” said Draco immediately. “We deserve it.” 

“Oh, I’m going to miss you all!” Hermione exclaimed abruptly, squeezing Harry’s arm. 

“The quidditch cup is only in a week,” Ron reasoned. “So you won’t have time to miss us.” 

“I suppose,” sighed Hermione. “But you don’t know what it’s like going back to the muggle world after being _here_ all year.” 

“I’ll come visit,” Daphne assured her. “You promised to take me to the amusement park.” 

“What’s that?” Draco asked immediately.

“Oh, it’s a sort of festival with rides and candy and games. Very bad for dental health.” 

Harry spared an idle wish to go to the amusement park with them as well, before dismissing it. Maybe one day. But this summer, there was work to be done.

“I’m telling you, we have time,” said Severus. “Please, Albus, I am begging you to hear me.” 

Harry, well-hidden under Áwere, peeked around the corner. The rest of the students were currently making their way to the carriages, but Harry had been distracted the professors. 

“Severus,” said Dumbledore gravely. “I know you are convinced my suspicions are the ravings of an old, fearful man. I am asking you to trust me.” 

“You are anything but a raving old man!” Severus snapped. “But _Gringotts?_ Think of the relationship between wizards and goblins right now, Albus. Think of what they would do to you if you were caught. “

_“If_ I was caught,” Dumbledore noted. “I wouldn’t be.” 

Severus snarled. “Do you think so lowly of them, or so highly of yourself? I cannot determine which is more unpleasant.” 

Dumbledore crossed his arms. “We must have the cup! It is lurking there, a virus, a powerful artifact, in the hands of—” 

“In the hands of an imprisoned murderer,” said Severus, “who cannot fetch it for her master anytime soon. I am asking you to wait, Albus.”

“And I am telling you, my boy, that events will more far more quickly than you think. If we have not destroyed the cup by the time he makes his move, it will be too late!” 

Severus stared him down. Harry had never seen his gaze so hard. “Bellatrix Lestrange is the only one who can access her vault, and she is rotting in Azkaban. Albus, if you make a move toward the bank, I will contact the goblins at once.” 

Dumbledore’s mouth dropped open. “Severus.” 

Severus shook his head viciously. “No, Albus. I am taking a stand. Your fury to see this through will ruin us just before victory. Turn your efforts to other matters this summer, and let us find a way to secure it that does not involve incurring the wrath of the goblins, especially at this point in history—are you still allied to the elves or not? Because what you are proposing will ruin Tippy Lockjaw. Is that what you want?”

Dumbledore frowned. “Of course not. But some things are more important, Severus.” 

“Then I suggest you reevaluate your priorities,” Severus hissed, and he stalked away toward the entrance hall. 

Heart racing, Harry dashed to catch up with him. Only once they were out of Dumbledore’s sight did he yank down the hood of his cloak. “Severus!” 

Severus yelped and jumped in place, stumbling forward a little. He turned a poisonous glare on Harry. “Potter, what in Merlin’s name … are you deigning to stay with me this summer? Don’t you have a hole to be skulking in while I run myself ragged looking for you?” 

“Ron invited me to the quidditch cup,” Harry said. “Can you take me to the Burrow next week? On the third?” 

Severus rolled his eyes. “Potter, just come to my home for the summer.” 

“Yes or no?” Harry asked. 

“Yes, obviously, Hogsmeade at nine o’clock. Now if you stay here any longer I will be required to detain you. I have heard several lectures on this responsibility from various dunderheaded ministry officials.” 

“Thanks, Severus,” said Harry. “I’ll see what I can do about the cup in the bank.” 

“What!” Severus demanded, but Harry was already pulling his hood back up. “Insolent, impudent, incorrigible child,” Severus muttered. 

“BABIES!” Harry hollered. “I MISSED YOU!” 

“Not babies!” wailed Ouro.

“I saw you yesterday when we went to charms, remember?” said Laila.

“I missed you too!” said Ifingr.

“Listen to my alphabet! Ay! Bee! See! Dee! EEEEEEE!” 

“Effuh! Jee! Haych!”

“EyeJayKayElleMmmmmmNnnnOooooo—” 

“Okay, okay!” Harry laughed. “Get off me, or you won’t get your bacon.” 

“Bacon!” They cleared off of him and let him stagger up from the hall floor, swarming his heels as the trotted over to hug the basilisk.

“Hello, Snakeheart,” it said warmly. “I am happy to have you home.” 

“Me too,” he said. “I missed you so much. I probably won’t go back next semester.” 

It gave a rumble of amusement. “I’ve heard that one before.” 

"BACON!” 

“Alright, alright.” As bacon was snatched from his pockets faster than he could remove it, Harry told the basilsisk: “I won’t be here long because I’m going to the quidditch cup. But only for a few days. And then I’ll be in the forest, of course, but I’ll have some time before that—” 

“Snakeheart,” said the basilisk, nudging him with its chin. “Do not worry. Live. Have fun. Your life is so much shorter than ours; you must live it to the fullest.” 

“You sound like Cuthbert,” said Harry. 

“Whoever that is sounds infinitely sensible.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t usually openly state where I diverge from canon, but this is a PSA for going forward. **There are no maledictus in _ever upward. ___**  
>  _  
>  _Also, I have moved the Quidditch World Cup up to the first week of July for … plot reasons ; )__  
> 


	9. The Burrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God I'm so excited to post pretty much ... every chapter in this fic going forward. Wow, do things get wild very soon.

“Harry, dear, come in! Severus, won’t you stay for a cup of tea?”

“I’m afraid I have a prior engagement,” said Severus stiffly, handing Harry off to Molly Weasley. 

“Well, when you come pick Harry up on the sixth, budget in a cuppa,” said Molly firmly. 

He gave a noncommittal shrug and aimed a pointed stare at Harry. “The sixth. Noon.” 

“Yes, I know,” Harry said. _“I’m_ the one who told _you_ that, you know.” 

“I don’t put it past you not to run off somewhere,” said Severus. “Goodbye, brat. Thank you, Molly.” 

“Lovely seeing you, Severus!” 

They watched as Severus disapparated with a snap of his crisp robes. Molly shook her head. “I do hope he’s more pleasant at home, dear.” 

“I wouldn’t know,” said Harry. “Mrs. Weasley, I never thanked you for the gloves first year. They were my favorites, until I grew out of them.” 

“Oh!” Molly fluttered her hands around for a moment, before resting them on Harry’s shoulders. “Dear, I’m so glad. I’ll make you another pair! Do you know, I knew your mother and father?” 

Harry beamed. “You did? Will you tell me about them?” 

“Of course, of course, but later. You’re the last one here; why don’t you go on upstairs to Ronnie’s room?” 

Harry needed no greater invitation, though he was swayed by Burrow as he walked through it. He had never been in such a _wizardly_ home. There were moving photographs on the walls and dishes doing themselves and a clock made of spoons and all sorts of casual magic, everywhere. He got terribly distracted watching a pair of needles swiftly knit a blanket, and only came back to himself when Draco yelled in his ear: “Harry! Please tell Ronald to stop going through my things!” 

Harry blinked. “Hello, Draco!” 

“Yes, hello, come _on.”_ Draco hauled him up a rickety set of stairs, off of which were several doorways. They went all the way up to the room below the attic, and the voices of his friends greeted him before the door was even open.

“Harry!” everyone shouted, as they squeezed inside. Ron’s room was tiny, but that hadn’t stopped everyone from cramming into it. Hermione and Daphne and Ginny were on the bed, Ron on a cushioned stool looking harangued, and Dobby was furiously scribbling on a parchment perched atop the chest of drawers. Draco dragged Harry in and abandoned him to clamber onto the chest as well. 

“Ron, I’m to tell you to stop going through Draco’s things,” said Harry, dropping his satchel on the floor and squashing beside Daphne on the bed. 

Ron groaned. “Give it up, Black, that was hours ago.” 

“Don’t call me Black when I’m sitting on your drawers!” 

Ron snickered. “That is where I keep them, actually.” 

Hermione huffed. “Don’t be disgusting, Ronnie.” 

“Everyone stop calling me Ronnie! Just because my mum does doesn’t mean everyone can!” 

“Hey Ronnie,” Harry said. “Where’s everyone else?” 

“Don’t you mean, ‘where’s Percy’?” 

Harry scowled. “Shut up.” 

“Then don’t call me Ronnie!” 

“Wait, what?” Ginny demanded, sitting forward. “What do you mean about Percy?” 

A wicked gleam came into Ron’s eye. Harry tore a Chudley Canons pillow off the bed and threw it as hard as he could. Ron pulled it from his face and managed to shout “Oh, you didn’t know about Harry’s massive—” before Harry hit him square in the face with a second pillow, and then Ginny cackled and joined in, and in short order Mrs. Weasley was storming up the stairs to shout about property damage. 

“Hey,” Draco said, pulling a feather from his mouth. “Where’s Dobby?” 

“I’s here,” came Dobby’s disembodied voice. Ginny pulled up the bedskirt to reveal him lying on his stomach under the bed, working by elflight. “Don’t mind me,” he mumbled. “Carry on.”

“Application deadlines are coming up,” Draco said knowingly. “You don’t want to play pickup quidditch, then, Dobby?” 

“No, no, I’s playing,” said Dobby absently. “Just let me finish this section.” 

Harry wandered downstairs for a breather and a cup of tea after a little while. He loved his friends, truly and deeply. But in his heart, he was more comfortable with a few of them at a time.

“Alright, Harry?” asked Mrs. Weasley. She was reading _Witch Weekly_ on the couch. “Cup of tea?” 

“Yes, please,” said Harry. She rose immediately and took him to the kitchen, where a pot was already brewing. They sat at the kitchen table together, Harry sipping from a chipped mug painted with messy spirals.

“Ronnie made that,” Mrs. Weasley said, smiling. “When he was around six or so. My favorite mug. I’ve repaired it every time it’s broken.” 

“It’s very good,” said Harry, grinning. “I love the different shades of, er, puke brown.” 

Mrs. Weasley laughed. “Dear, it is a delight to be in your presence after so long. What can I tell you about James and Lily?” 

Harry pondered it, feeling very at home in the kitchen of the Burrow. It wasn’t as spotless as the Hogwarts kitchens; there were messes here and there, and art and newspapers tacked to the walls, mugs stacked by the sink and a pot of something fragrant bubbling on the stove. Harry had only been at the Burrow for two hours, and he loved it. He wondered what Araeo would think of it.

“How did you know them?” Harry asked.

Mrs. Weasley tilted her head. “Oh, I was a bit ahead of them in school, so we never really crossed paths. It was after school. We were both in—well, to be honest, dear, it’s a bit of a secret. We are in an organization together that fought against You-Know-Who, and I can’t say much more than that.” 

“That’s alright,” Harry said. “Did they fight? In the organization?” 

Mrs. Weasley nodded. “Oh, yes. We all fought during those times. I hope I never live through anything like that again. But Lily, she was a fantastic brewer, and she made potions for healing and disguise. Deft hand at charms, too. And James, he was a transfiguration genius, you know. Put his skills to use more times than I can count, in a thousand different ways.” 

They were seated beside a large window. As Mrs. Weasley spoke, raindrops began to patter down. Mrs. Weasley sighed. “There goes your quidditch game, I’m afraid.” 

“What,” Harry demanded, “like a little rain would stop us?” 

Stop them it did not. Hermione and Dobby and Daphne elected to stay in, but Ron, Harry, Ginny, and Draco marched themselves out into the pouring rain, with orders from Mrs. Weasley that the second she heard a rumble of thunder, they were to come back inside immediately. 

But Harry had flown in worse conditions than this. It took a dementor to knock _him_ from his broom. 

Fred and George came running out to join them, having been ensconced in secretive things in their room. They played a chaser’s game, the twins in the goals. The rain hurled down, obscuring sight and hearing. 

“ILLIN BARLEY OM GATOR!” Fred shouted.

“WHAT?” Ron yelled back, squinting against the rain.

“BILL AND CHARLIE ARE COMING LATER!” George screamed. 

“WHAT ABOUT PERCY?” Harry yelled.

“WHAT?” 

“WHAT ABOUT PERCY?” 

“FUDGE OTTER!” Ginny yelled.

“WHAT?” 

“SHUT UP, POTTER!” 

They played until it was impossible to see their hands around their brooms and George got accidentally whacked by the quaffle. And then they trooped back through the gale, bursting into the Burrow with a gust of rain.

“Shut the door, for Merlin’s sake!” shouted a Weasley Harry hadn’t seen in a very long time, poking his head into the hallway.

“Bill!” cried Fred and George, leaping towards him.

Skillfully, Bill erected a sparkling blue shield that stopped them in their tracks. “No one’s getting me wet,” he said sternly. “Hugs for dry siblings only.” 

Harry was starting to shiver. The Burrow was warm, which meant he finally noticed how cold the rain had been.

“Oh, dear,” said Molly Weasley, bustling in with stacks of towels. “Alright, everyone, out of your wet clothes and by the fire. Honestly …” 

“Thanks mum!”

“Thanks Mrs. Weasley!”

In short order Harry was in his pajamas by the roaring fire, cradling a cup of cocoa between his hands, surrounded by his friends and the most Weasleys you could fit into one space, which was to say: all of them.

Daphne and Hermione were playing a game of chess in the corner, Ginny and Ron were hanging off Bill’s arm, Charlie was in deep conversation with Arthur Weasley, Ron’s father, and Percy was by the fire with Harry.

“Thanks, Percy,” Harry said.

Percy looked up from his book. “Hm?” 

“For what you said when I asked you for advice. I talked to him and it’s all fine.” He laughed slightly. “Actually, he was sort of worried about the same things.” 

“I’m very glad, Harry.” Percy smiled at him, cheek dimpling.

“So, did you get a job?” Harry asked. “Without Tippy, I mean, I know you were planning on working for her.” 

Percy nodded. “That’s true, my plans were rather disrupted, again. But I did get a position: I am on Andromeda Tonks’ campaign team.” 

Harry blinked. “Campaign? For what?” 

“She’s running for Minister of Magic. She actually recruited me, told me Madam Lockjaw had—had actually contacted her to make sure I would have a position out of school, since it couldn’t be with her.” Percy blinked, looking quite overwhelmed for a moment. “Very kind of her.” 

“She’s a kind person,” Harry agreed, remembering the elf who had taught him to cook a rabbit and play euchre in the same afternoon. “What does it mean to run for minister?” 

“Well, it means Andromeda has different ideas for the future of the wizarding world than Corneleus Fudge,” Percy explained. “Fudge, as you obviously know, has taken a hard stance against species equality, and is experiencing a lot of pushback and criticism. Andromeda has a history in politics. She is a pureblood, yet she married a muggle. Her child is … a unique quantity in herself. Her sister is Narcissa Black, who has eschewed Lucius Malfoy’s fanaticism and advocates for elf equity, not least of all with her wealth. Andromeda is running on a platform of species equity, specifically education and suffrage rights, and peaceful collaboration rather than Fudge’s militancy.” 

Harry sat up straight. “Well, she’ll obviously win! That’s so much better!” 

Percy tilted his head. “Well, that’s the thing, Harry. Quite a few people think like Fudge, instead of like Andromeda. But that’s where I come in! I’m doing outreach and bookkeeping for the Tonks campaign.” He grinned. “I quite like it so far. Andromeda seems to appreciate what I have to say.” 

“Well, of course she does, everything you say is brilliant,” said Harry. 

Percy blushed. “Well, thank you.” 

_“Merlin,”_ Ginny sighed, draping herself over Harry’s shoulders. “More cauldron bottoms?” 

“Cauldron bottoms are important,” said Harry and Percy at the exact same time. 

In the morning Harry was dragged awake in the pre-dawn hours, unable to believe he had to wake up so early. He pushed himself up from his bundle of blankets on Ron’s floor and had to very sternly tell himself not to blow Draco up for being so obnoxiously _loud_ at such a terrible hour.

“Come on, come on, Mrs. Weasley said to be downstairs at five and it’s four forty-seven already!” screeched Draco. 

“Merlin’s balls,” Ron groaned.

“Ronald, don’t be crude.” 

_“Merlin’s hairy—”_

“Boys!” Hermione snapped, throwing open their door. “Why on earth aren’t you up yet, we’re supposed to be downstairs in twelve minutes!” 

Unable to stand it any longer, Harry pulled on a clean robe, shoved his things in his pack, and stormed from the room. Charlie was dozing on the couch, and Harry slumped next to him. Someone shoved a cup of tea into his hands and he drank it automatically, waking a bit more when Bill sat down next to him.

“Potter,” he said, looking perfectly awake. Bill had a fang earring through one ear and hair gathered in a ponytail. When he grinned, the tips of his canine teeth poked out. Harry reminded himself, very sternly, that he could barely handle his crush on one Weasley. 

“Hi,” he said. “Everyone’s coming?” 

“Everyone but mum. She doesn’t like quidditch very much and she likes sleeping in tents less. But she’s packing all our meals!” He laughed, shaking his head. “I heard down the grapevine that you know some interesting things about magical theory, Potter.” 

Harry shrugged. “I guess. Limmy actually knows more than me.” 

“I’d like to meet Limmy.” 

“I’ll tell her to owl you, I suppose.” He yawned hugely. “When, you know, she won’t be murdered.”

“Right, right.” 

“You’re a … cursebreaker, yeah?” 

“That’s right. At Gringotts.” 

A cursebreaker at Gringotts. Exhausted gears clicked together furiously in his head, grinding and grinding. He sat up straight. “Do you know Director Havelock?”

“We’ve crossed paths a few times, but the Board doesn’t have much to do with menial labor like cursebreaking.” 

“I know her. I could put you in touch with her. Bill, what if I told you there’s an incredibly dangerous, dark artifact that the goblins don’t know about locked in a vault?” 

Bill’s eyebrows rose—Harry noted in the back of his mind that one of them was pierced, too. “That the goblins don’t _know_ about? Then I’d say the owner would be in serious trouble. What class of curse are we talking?” 

Harry bit his lip. “I don’t know about curse classes. But bad enough that I can’t tell you right now. Something to do with Voldemort.” 

Bill turned to face him fully. “Potter, are you being serious right now? Are you joking around?” 

Harry frowned. “Why would I joke about something like this.” 

“You can trust Potter,” put in Charlie, who hadn’t been dozing as heavily as Harry had thought. “Tonks vouches for him all the time.” 

That made something warm spread over Harry’s chest, but Bill’s eyebrows just furrowed deeper. “When can you tell me details?” 

“When I can meet with you and Havelock in person. I usually visit Diagon after school starts; I’ll get Severus to take me this year instead of the steward. Don’t worry, I’ll set everything up.” 

“Who the hell _are_ you?” Bill asked. 

“A nuisance,” sighed Daphne, squeezing beside Harry on the couch and putting her head on his shoulder. She snatched his tea and drained the rest in one gulp. “Merlin, I’m tired.” 

“All right, everyone,” said Percy, bustling into the room in a very Mrs. Weasley-ish manner. “Make sure you have your lunches, they’re on the table and labeled, and did everyone remember their pajamas and clothes for tomorrow? Toothbrushes? Where on earth are Ron and Ginny? RON! GINNY! WE ARE LEAVING IN SEVEN MINUTES!” 

“Merlin, Percy,” groaned Charlie. “You could give the dragons a run for their money.”

“Dragons,” said Daphne and Harry at the very same time before scrambling over to Charlie. “Charlie!” Harry exclaimed.

“How’s Norbert?” Daphne demanded.

Charlie cracked open an eyelid. “You were in on it too?” he asked Daphne. 

“Oh, we all were.” 

He shut his eye again. “Figures. We call her Norberta now. Thriving. Loves meat. Tries to sit on my head.” 

Harry and Daphne beamed at each other.

In short order Percy had corralled the errant members of the party into the living room, distributed lunches, sent Ron and Ginny back for their toothbrushes and Ginny back again for toothpaste, and then Mrs. Weasley was hollering from her room for them to leave already and let her sleep, for Morgana’s sake. 

Arthur Weasley led them, in various states of exhaustion, on a trek over the sodden hillside. The storm had wiped the very air clear, and Harry was starting to wake up at last as they strode toward the sunrise, morning breeze in his face. 

“Ah, here we are,” said Arthur, as they reached the top of a hill. “And there’s the portkey.” 

Harry stared at a ratty old boot on the ground. “The what?” 

“It’s an object enchanted to transport us to a pre-set location,” said Hermione. “They can take as many people as can touch the object.”

“Quite correct,” said Mr. Weasley. “Though weren’t we supposed to meet—” 

“Arthur!” came a call from over the hill. “Here we come, don’t let it leave without us!” 

Cedric Diggory and his father, of all people, rounded the crest just as the boot started to shimmer. Harry quickly seized one of the laces before it swept them all away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you soon for a secret mission ;)


	10. Subterfuge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Representation of me remembering everything that actually happened at the quidditch world cup while writing these chapters: "well, hell."
> 
> **Chapter warnings: incident of police harassment**

Harry got whiplash, so quickly did they go from a peaceful morning hilltop to a bustling field of wizards. He was briefly dizzy as he looked down at a vast field of colorful tents, and beyond them the quidditch pitch—regulation size, but with seats to fit half the wizarding world. Above it, intermittent fireworks counted down the minutes to the match, each time showering the stadium in green or scarlet sparks. 

“Oh Merlin,” Ron breathed, hopping in place. “I can’t believe we’re really here!” 

“I love the quidditch cup,” said Draco. “Father took me to the one four years ago—” he broke off, but rallied when Ron nudged him supportively, “and it was brilliant.” 

“Let’s go!” shouted the twins. “There’s the ticket hut!” 

They led the charge, though Harry, Ron, Draco, and Ginny were in hot pursuit, the quarter mile or so from the portkey point, leaving the Diggorys far behind. The noise of the congregated audience grew louder and louder, and Harry’s excitement grew with it. 

“Hold on, boys, and Ginny,” Mr. Weasley called. “I have the tickets.” 

They reluctantly waited for the rest of them, and approached the little ticket hut together. “Hello,” said Mr. Weasley to the man running the stand. “Here you are—tickets for us all. There should be thirteen.” 

“Thirteen,” said the man absently, taking the tickets. “Bad luck, that. Mind you, bad luck seems the worst of my worries today. Odd things going on around here, I tell you. Very odd things.” 

“Oh?” asked Mr. Weasley.

“Oh, yes,” said the man, whose name tag read ‘Roberts.’ “Very odd dressers, our visitors today. Lots of campers. I do believe I saw a man carrying an _owl_ earlier, if you can believe it, and I’m sure that’s against some sort of regulations, unless he’s part of one of those environmental schemes—and if I told you the rest, sir, you’d think I was mad.” 

“Surely not,” said Mr. Weasley. 

“You would,” said the man, handing their tickets back. “All’s in order, sir. Enjoy your walk.” 

“Thank you,” said Mr. Weasley, leading them on through.

“Was he—a muggle?” Hermione asked.

“Roberts?” said Mr. Weasley. “Yes. He and his family live on site, I believe that’s what Ludo Bagman was telling me. They’ve got them charmed for the occasion. No doubt he’ll forget all of the funny things he’s seen by the time he goes to bed tonight.” 

Hermione stopped in her tracks. Harry met her horrified gaze, utterly repulsed. 

“They can’t do that!” Hermione shrieked. “It’s—it’s barbaric! It’s completely uncivilized!” 

Harry nodded furiously. “You can’t just go around erasing memories! Why wouldn’t they just ask them to leave?”

Mr. Weasley shrugged uneasily. “Well ... then they wouldn’t have a ticket-taker, I suppose.” 

Harry stared back over his shoulder at Roberts, now taking another family’s tickets. “They can’t _do_ that! Muggles aren’t animals!” 

“Now, I’m the last person to think something like that,” said Mr. Weasley. “But look alive, children, the check point is ahead.” 

“Checkpoint?” Harry asked.

“Auror checkpoint,” said Draco grimly, taking Dobby’s hand. “Didn’t you read my article?” 

Harry had skimmed the article and then Ouro had accidentally (it claimed) dunked it in the stream. 

Ahead of them, four aurors with their wands out were watching them approach. They wore identical red robes and black boots, and Harry didn’t know a single one of them. 

“Tickets, and papers for the elf,” said the first one. Wordlessly, Mr. Weasley handed him the tickets.

Dobby stepped forward to hand the auror a sheaf of papers, and at once four wands were trained on him. His ears went flat back. “I is giving you my papers,” he said slowly, as Draco drew himself up at his side.

The auror addressed Mr. Weasley. “Tell the elf to hand its papers to you.” 

_“It!”_ Draco shouted, but then Bill stepped up and put a hand on his shoulder, effectively silencing him.

“Dobby,” Bill said grimly. “May I have your papers?” 

Dobby handed them over, and Bill presented them to the auror. 

The auror glanced over it, and spoke to Bill. “This says it’s employed by Narcissa Black. Where is she?” 

“Madam Black is arriving later today,” Bill said, voice hard. “She has entrusted her employee with her son’s care.” 

The auror glanced at Draco, who was trembling with fury. He held the papers for one, two, three sickening seconds, wherein Harry felt his wand burning in his pocket. Then, dismissive, he held the papers back out to Bill. “Enjoy the cup.” 

Bill snatched them back and they proceeded quickly and furiously. The moment they were out of earshot Draco was ranting. “When my mother hears about this!” he growled. “I swear to Merlin she will burn this place to the ground, she will find that man and make him pay—” 

“Draco,” Dobby said, squeezing his hand. “Don’t call more attention.” 

Draco shut up. Mr. Weasley led the way, Bill following behind, as they descended in a tight, tense huddle towards the campground. But not even their stupefied horror could stop the burbling of excitement at the tents. 

What tents they were. Hundreds, thousands, stretching off into the distance, a rainbow riot of colors but most green and red for Ireland and Bulgaria. Some of them had gardens and tiny lawns out front with wrought iron benches and sundials and birdbaths, and some of them had small swimming pools, some had stepping-stone lanes, glass windows in the fabric walls, and chimneys puffing out multicolored smoke, even though it was summertime. 

“Ah, here we are,” said Mr. Weasley, coming to an empty lot between a three-story emerald tent and one that looked like a grass-covered hill. “Bill?” 

“Right-o.” Bill took a handkerchief from his pocket, deftly unfolded it three times, and threw it into the center of the lot. It expanded into a modest blue tent with a mail slot in the tent flap and the words “Burrow on the Go” painted on the side in a childish hand. 

“Let’s see,” said Mr. Weasley. “Draco, your mum will be in that lot across from us, but she’s said the girls can bunk with her and you can be with us. Everyone memorize our spot now, we’re number eleven hundred and three. Got it? Good. Now, Narcissa will be here at noon, and we’ll head to her box from there. So wherever you roam, everyone, be back at eleven hundred and three by noon. Understand?” 

“Yes!” 

“Right. I give you free reign, then, and don’t tell Molly. Everyone have their allowance?” 

“We didn’t get ours!” chorused Fred and George.

“Yeah, right,” scoffed Charlie, taking them both by the elbow. “Let’s go, brothers mine.” 

Mr. Weasley ducked into the tent, leaving the rest of them with Bill outside. He knelt down to be face-to-face with them, looking deadly serious. “Everyone, look at me.”

Harry, Draco, Hermione, Ron, Daphne, and Ginny looked at him. Dobby stood to the side and watched. 

“This isn’t Hogwarts,” said Bill. “I know you all think you’re hot shit fourth-years now. But if you fuck with the aurors today, they will kill Dobby and throw the rest of you in Azkaban where even I can’t help you. Do I make myself clear?” 

Slowly, one-by-one, they nodded. Dobby cleared his throat. “I wants to say something.” 

“Go on,” Bill said. 

Dobby took a deep breath, looking at them all. “I’s knowing the risks of coming here today. We is making it in. Narcissa is coming soon. I just wants to have a good time.” 

“Okay,” said Draco quietly. Harry said nothing at all. 

“Now scram,” said Bill. “It’s six am and I don’t see a single piece of horrifically sugary or fried food in any tiny children hands, and that’s a war crime or something. Concessions are that way.” 

They took off in a drove. It looked like many of the attendees had arrived the night before, and were emerging in dressing gowns with cups of tea into the morning air, to be nearly stampeded by aforementioned hot-shit fourth-years, plus Dobby. The concessions area was indeed a carnival on its own. What did it matter that it was six in the morning? Candy-makers and food-fryers and sugar-spinners were out in force, frantically stocking up for the incoming rush. The booths were run by wizards with, to Harry’s surprise, quite few elves working alongside them.

“I’m going to go berserk,” Ron said calmly. 

“Race you to the fried doxy feet!” Daphne shouted, and away they went.

“Not real doxy feet,” Harry said to Hermione, as they split up, the better to devour their prey.

“I don’t think so,” said Hermione. “Pretty sure they’re sort of like pralines. Harry, look.” Her brow was drawn down in a deeply troubled manner. “We have to do something.” 

“About Roberts? I know. It’s—they can’t _do_ that,” he said helplessly.

Hermione shuddered. “Every time I think I know how much wizards hate muggles, it gets worse. This is why I never let my parents come to Diagon with me.” 

Harry took her hand. “Let’s go get some sugar,” he said lightly. “Would you prefer it in solid, liquid, or gaseous form?” 

Hermione giggled. “Oh, gaseous any day.” 

“Harry,” Ron shouted, twenty minutes later when the concessions had been ransacked. He had chocolate smeared all across his face. “We’re going to get merch!” 

“We’ll catch up!” Harry shouted, gesturing to his and Hermione’s massive chocolate sundaes. 

Dobby’s ears flicked forward, and he gave Harry a look. But Dobby wasn’t Tippy, so he wasn’t the boss of Harry. 

“Alright,” shouted Ron. “Do you want an Ireland or Belgium badge?” 

“Ah—get me one of each!” 

“Right!” 

They sat at the rickety little picnic table picking at their sundaes and watching their friends leave. Then Harry pulled his invisibility cloak from his bag. “Ah-ha. Here, Hermione, you use Áwere. I have my pendant.”

Hermione slipped the cloak around her shoulders. “Harry, thank you. You don’t have to do this for me.” 

Harry stared at her. “Of course I do. Plus, it’s not for you, it’s for Roberts.” She gave him a tremulous smile. “Come on.” He tossed his sundae in the trash, and she followed suit. 

Just as he was about to turn around Chikkeritt’s pendant, a hand came down on his shoulder. “What’s this, Titchy T? After Old Man William’s talking-to?” asked Fred, possibly.

“And perfect Miss Granger as well, how shocking,” said George, maybe. 

Hermione looked down, but Harry rolled his eyes. “Get off. How’d you shake Charlie?” 

“It would be more productive to ask how Charlie managed to not be shaken for so long,” said Fred.

“Almost half an hour!” said George.

“Disgraceful of us.” 

“Truly.”

“Anyway, let us help.” 

Hermione crossed her arms. “Help with what?” 

Fred stared exaggeratedly at her. “Oh, perhaps your liberation scheme?” 

“Come on, it’s awful what they’ve done to that family.” 

“Plus! We have supplies.” 

George opened a bag full of small bundles and boxes. “We were gonna look for an investor here—” 

“—but this is a worthier cause.” 

“Prank stuff?” Hermione asked. 

“Not just prank stuff!” 

“Practically applicable prank stuff!” 

“Darkness powder! No longer accidentally pink!” 

“Trick exploding wands!” 

“Various marginally-malicious candies!”

“Decoys! Shield scarves!”

“FIREWORKS!” 

“All right, keep your voices down,” Harry hissed. “You’re too big for my cloak; do you have any disguises?” 

“Excuse me, lad, excuse me. Lad? Lad?” 

The auror glanced up. “Can I help you, sir?” 

“I’ve lost my wand,” said the ancient bearded man mournfully. “Do you have a lost and found?” 

The auror rolled his eyes. “You lost your wand.” 

“He’s always losing things,” said the ancient woman beside the man. “Lose his own head next. Swear he had the silly thing when we passed through here.” 

“You don’t have a lost and found?” asked the man. “Young people these days, what are you supposed to do when you find something, eh, just throw it back on the ground? Steal it? Youth are all thieves these days, lad, I tell you, and no doubts about it—” 

“We have a lost and found,” cut in the man. “Go ask the muggle taking the tickets.” 

“Thanks ever so,” creaked the ancient woman. Arm in arm, they teetered over to the shack.

Harry and Hermione followed them, perfectly invisible.

“Excuse me,” said the ancient man, also known as possibly-Fred, barging up to the counter and shunting aside an affronted witch trying to give her ticket. “Excuse me, beauty before age I’m afraid. Young sir, do you have a lost and found?” 

Roberts blinked at him. “A lost and found? Sure we do, sure we do. What are you looking for, then?” 

“Oh, this and that,” said the old woman, also known as maybe-George. “It’s not here, is it? The lost and found? It’s in your home?” 

Roberts scratched his head. “The lost and found? What—what do you mean, then? Where is it?” 

“The lost and found,” said Fred intently. “It’s in your home, isn’t that right?” 

“The lost and found? It’s in my home, madam, shall I take you there?” 

“If you would be so kind,” said George. “Hello, sir? Sir? Young lad in the uncomely red?” 

The auror looked over, irritation creasing his brow. “Yes, madam?” 

“This dashing young lad is taking us to the lost and found to look for my idiot husband’s wand. Be a dear and take over the tickets for a tic?” 

The auror scowled. “Now, look here, that muggle has a job—” 

“You’re saying I can’t have my wand?” demanded Fred. “Youth these days, even the law, you can’t ever trust them, that’s what I told my Derwint, they’ll steal your wand and then they’ll steal your soul, I said, it’s the lack of religious morality, didn’t I say—” 

“Right, fine, go,” said the auror. Sighing, he stowed his wand and snatched the impatient witch’s ticket. “Don’t take too long; this isn’t my job.” 

“Not long, not long,” said George. “Sir? The lost and found?” 

“Right,” said Roberts dimly. “Lost and found. In my cottage. Off we go.” 

They followed a stumbling Roberts across the hill, a cozy little cottage tucked on the other side of it. “Here’s my home,” mumbled Roberts. “Lost and found, what is it you’re looking for?” 

“Something important,” said Fred. “Let us in?”

“Right,” said Roberts. “Something important. I could have sworn there was something important I’ve got to remember …” 

“Love?” came a woman’s voice, as Roberts unlocked his front door. “Back already?” 

“Mrs. Roberts?” Harry called, flipping over his pendant. “We’re here to help you.” 

George shut the door. Hermione pulled down her hood. Roberts took a startled step back.

Mrs. Roberts, a thin woman with laugh lines and hair under a handkerchief, came wandering out into the hall, blinking slowly. “Help?” she asked dazedly.

“Memory charms,” said Fred. “We don’t know the counter.” 

“There isn’t one,” said Hermione grimly. “Fred, George, you have anything for wakefulness in your bag?” 

“Sure,” said George, rifling through. “Here we go. Untested, mind. We’re calling it ‘Sip and Zip’.” 

“Lovely.” Hermione snatched the bottle from him. “Mrs. Roberts, could you take a sip of this for me? It’s medicine. It’ll make you stop feeling so foggy.” 

“Medicine?” asked Mrs. Roberts faintly. “I’m not sick.” 

“Don’t you feel unwell?” Hermione pressed. “Just a sip of this and you’ll feel all better.” 

“Unwell … yes, I’m feeling unwell. Just a sip?” 

“Just a sip.” 

Mrs. Roberts raised the little lime-green vial to her lips. When she lowered it, she blinked a few time, shook her head, and then looked at them with pupils blown wide. Her teeth chattered and her hands shook—it took a few tries for her to cork the bottle. “W-w-who-are-you?” she asked, words coming rapidly. “What’s-going-on? Andrew? Where’re-my-children? Why-are-you-in-my-home?” 

“Zippy,” Fred said proudly. 

“Mrs. Roberts, you’re in danger,” said Hermione. “Give your husband a drink too, please. We’re going to get you away. Are your children in the house?” 

“I-don’t-know!” chattered Mrs. Roberts. “I-can’t-remember! Aiden! Eliza! Are-you-there!” 

“Mum?” came a slow call. 

“Come-here!” 

Meanwhile, Mr. Roberts took a slow sip of potion. He froze, eyes going wide, shook himself frantically from side to side like a dog, and stared around wildly. “What-on-God’s-green-earth-is-going-on?” 

“You’re in danger,” Hermione repeated, as two young children sleepwalked into the room, blinking slowly. The boy, about five, clutched a stuffed rabbit. The girl, ten or so, was breathing raggedly. “Memory charms on children are illegal,” she noted coolly. “Mrs. Roberts, do you have family in the area?” 

“Sister-in-London!” said Mrs. Roberts, forcing the potion into her children’s mouths. 

“Out of the house,” ordered Fred. “Everyone, right now. Please, don’t return for a week at least, alright?” 

“Who-are-you?” demanded Mr. Roberts. “What’s-going-on?” 

“We can’t tell you much,” said Hermione. “Please, if anyone asks you what happened, just say you got a fancy to visit your sister. Don’t mention us. You might not remember, anyway.” 

“Here’s a back door,” said George. “Come on and I’ll call the bus!” 

“Bus?” Harry asked. He got outside just in time to see Fred fling out his wand, and a massive purple double-decker bus appeared in midair. 

“Welcome to the Knight Bus!” said a pimply youth, hanging out of the door. “How can I help you—” 

“Mrs. Roberts, the address?” 

Dazed, Mrs. Roberts gave it. Fred and George pulled galleons out of their pockets and counted slowly, frowning. 

“Here,” said Harry, shoving twenty galleons into Stan’s hands. “Keep the change if you go there first and don’t tell _anyone_ about this. And leave right now!” 

“Can do!” said Stan, saluting. “Ernie! London, _stat!_ It’s ten galleons for us on the line!” 

The bus erupted forward, vanishing with a scream.

“Well,” said Hermione. “That was anything but subtle.”

“Time to get lost,” agreed Fred. “C’mon. We can sneak back into the campsite from the other side of the woods.” 

They disappeared into the trees just as the entire cohort of aurors came striding over to the house.

“Or we could just dash by the counter while there’s no one to take tickets,” George suggested. 

“Run!” said Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you soon for an exciting tournament : )


	11. The Quidditch World Cup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for a match.
> 
> **Chapter warnings:** incident of terror, violence and violent language, panic attack

“Oh, this is brilliant,” said Ginny. “Professor Black, thank you so much!” 

Narcissa smiled at her, impossibly elegant in a peach sundress and wide-brimmed hat. “Not a professor any more, dear. Madam Black is fine.”

But Ginny was correct. This was _brilliant_. The whole group was ensconced in Narcissa’s personal box to watch the match. There were cushioned seats and trays of snacks (though Harry could not possibly eat another morsel for at least ten minutes) and bubbly drinks for the adults and soda for the children. They were directly mid-pitch. The view could not be rivaled. 

Harry was decked out in equal amounts of merchandise for Ireland and Bulgaria, having been unable to resist any vendor. His pockets were stuffed with souvenirs for his friends, and his stomach was stuffed with the greasiest, most delicious food he’d ever eaten. 

The roar of the crowd, first overwhelming, had ceased to alarm him. They were simply _loud_ , but that was all. He was practically an expert at navigating wizard spaces now, and it made a bubble of pride well up in his stomach.

“Andy!” Narcissa exclaimed, rising from her seat. “So glad you could make it. And Tonks, what a pleasure.” 

Andromeda Black and Tonks squeezed into the box, distributing hugs everywhere. Percy leapt up like a frog to shake Andromeda’s hand and properly introduce her to the Weasleys. 

“And this is Harry Potter,” he said finally, bringing her around. She was wearing an Ireland sweater with a sparkling shamrock, and muggle jeans.

Harry giggled. “We know each other, Percy. We’re cousins, I guess.” 

“Cousin is as good a term as any,” said Andromeda, kissing his cheek. “Hello again, Harry.” 

“I think you’ll be a great minister,” said Harry.

“Oh—why, thank you. A bit premature, though, seeing as I haven’t won yet.” 

“You will,” said Harry firmly. “Percy’s on your team; how could you not?” 

Percy gaped at him, blushing, and then escorted Andromeda firmly away.

“Harry,” said Tonks in astonished glee. “How bold you’ve grown, my little mirror ghost.” 

Harry grinned. “Hi, Tonks. Congratulations on your job!” 

“Oh, thanks.” Tonks grinned, brushing her vivid green hair behind a pointed ear. She had a smattering of green freckles across her cheeks as well. “I’m really pleased with it.” 

“What are you doing?” asked Hermione curiously.

Tonks settled into a seat and unwrapped a fried pretzel. “Well, I suppose I’m sort of a bodyguard for hire. A lot of non-human folk don’t feel safe right now and just want someone to get groceries or go to meetings with them. That’s me—in disguise, obviously. It’s a free service, too, ‘cause we run on donations. I don’t make much, but at least I can live with myself.” 

“That’s brilliant,” Ginny said, leaning forward over the seats. “Way better than those horrid aurors. I can’t believe I ever wanted to be one of them.” 

“The aurors did ask me an odd question as I came in,” Tonks said, taking a massive bite of pretzel. “Asked if I saw a runaway muggle on the property. How do you lose a whole muggle, I asked? He turned very red and was very rude about taking my ticket.” 

“That is odd,” Hermione said loudly. “I hope everything’s okay.” 

Ginny snorted. “Give it up, Hermione. You two aren’t subtle.” 

“No clue what you’re talking about, Ginevra,” said Harry, and Ginny’s resulting fit continued for several minutes.

“Isn’t it a shame,” came Narcissa’s voice, floating over to them. “It was going to be such a momentous collaboration.”

Harry glanced over to the see the adults all shaking their heads sadly. “What are they talking about?” he asked.

Tonks sighed, wrapping her pretzel back up in a desultory sort of way. “Oh, well, there was supposed to be something really brilliant at Hogwarts this year, but with everything that’s going on, everyone else has pulled out. On account of our government trying to kill or re-enslave all the elves, and putting dementors around kids and making space for Blood Riot and … and whatnot.” 

“What was supposed to happen?” Hermione asked curiously.

“Ah, something called the Triwizard tournament.” 

Ron’s jaw dropped as he leaned over the back of his chair to gawk. “No _way_! And they canceled it?” 

“’S more like we’re being boycotted.” Tonks shrugged. “Maybe it’ll happen in a few years … but I doubt it.” 

“Wasn’t the tournament originally canceled because of a death?” Hermione asked, frowning.

“Well, yes,” Tonks admitted. “But hey, look—it’s starting!” 

All was forgotten in favor of the match. 

And _what_ a match. School games would forever seem paltry.

It was _incredible_. Harry had never seen anyone fly like the Irish and Bulgarian teams, who moved in such easy synchronicity that it was is if they were all fingers on the same hand. Chasers passed with hardly a glace and ignored oncoming blunders with ultimate trust in their beaters. Keepers swept the quaffle from goals straight across the pitch into waiting hands. And the seekers … the seekers, the seekers. _Viktor Krum._

He flew like a sparrow, leading the Irish seeker in dizzying loops and dives that even Harry didn’t think he’d be able to pull off without many months of practice. It was as if he’d spent his whole life in the air.

The match ended as dusk fell, with Krum performing a spectacular maneuver and Ireland winning in points overall. Harry could hardly bring himself to let go of the railing, staring at the flyers touching down to shake hands. 

“Wow,” breathed Ginny beside him. “ _I_ want to be that.” Her eyes were sparkling. 

“You should definitely be that,” Harry agreed.

They stayed up til midnight in the Weasley’s tent, re-enacting the match in uproarious tones until Narcissa and Mr. Weasley put their feet down. Hermione, Ginny, Andromeda, and Tonks, for today, trooped across the way to Narcissa’s three-story tent, while the rest of them settled into bunks and sleeping bags.

“Could you believe, just around the thirty-four minute mark, when Krum did that feint behind the goal?” Ron whispered in the dark.

“It was amazing,” said Draco. “But did you see when Ryan sent the quaffle straight into Troy and Moran’s setup?” 

“Beautiful,” agreed Ron.

“If you all don’t be quiet,” hissed Charlie, “I’m going to personally strangle every one of you.” 

They subsided.

“Did you see,” Harry whispered, “Lynch hang upside-down to dodge that bludger?” 

“POTTER!” 

“Right, sorry.” 

He stared at the pitch-black tent ceiling, the match replaying over and over in his mind. How utterly wonderful. He would never sleep again for dreaming of it.

He was asleep five minutes later. 

He was awoken by screaming. 

He jolted upright, seizing his wand and sending his elflight into the air, flaring a bright purple. “Bill! Arthur! Charlie!” 

They were already scrambling up. “Stay here!” Mr. Weasley ordered. “Am I understood—Percy, keep them here!” 

“Right,” said Percy blearily, lighting his wand. “What’s going on—” 

But the three eldest Weasley men were already out of the tent. 

“What is that?” Draco asked, standing up from his sleeping bag. “Screaming? Who’s screaming?” 

They all listened carefully. Yes, it was screaming. Distant shouting, and was that—

“Laughing?” breathed Ron. “Is someone laughing?” 

Someone was laughing. Many people were laughing. High and cruel and getting closer.

Bill burst back into the tent. “Everyone out! Everyone, out right now! You will take someone’s hand and not let go, so help me Merlin! Rendezvous at the muggles’ house in an hour if we haven’t found you by then! _NOW_!” 

Harry seized Draco’s hand and pulled him from the tent. It was chaos outside—people were shouting and screaming and trampling the tents—they lost the rest of their group immediately. In distance, parading closer, were a group of figures in bright red robes—and they had their wands out—and hovering in the air in front of them, contorting with wild screams of pain were—

“Elves!” screeched Draco. “DOBBY! DOBBY!” 

“Be quiet!” Harry snapped, hauling him towards the forest. “He was in the tent—do you want them to notice him?” They were swamped in the panicking heave of thousands of wizards. 

Draco resisted, hauling backwards. “We have to help! I have to find him!” 

Harry would normally agree. But this was a stampede. “Bill will help them! Narcissa will help them! We have to hide, Draco, don’t you know who must be here?!” 

Draco’s hand went slack in Harry’s. Harry redoubled his grip and began to charge again. The crowd was in absolute mania, loud as a storm, trampling anything in its way. Harry put his shoulder down and slammed through bystanders until they had cleared the treeline. Those horrible sounds followed them: tortured screaming, and maniacal laughter. 

“Inward!” Harry gasped. “Hurry!” 

Hands clenched tightly together—Bill had said not to let go so _Harry would not—_ they crashed through the woods until there was no one else around them. Then they stood still and breathed. Draco’s chest was heaving, his hands were shaking. Harry wasn’t much better. He twitched at the every rustle of wind in the leaves. 

“I think—” Draco gasped, high and labored, “We’re—okay!” 

“Shh!” 

They held still and quiet, quiet as they could. Harry’s ears strained for any sign of pursuit. 

Nothing. 

“Okay,” he said, relaxing. “Okay, let’s find—” 

“Draco!” 

Draco flinched so hard he nearly broke Harrys’ fingers. “ _It’s him_ ,” he moaned.

“Draco! Draco, dear! Come say hello to your father!” 

They fled. Deeper and deeper into the woods, but it was dark and the forest was unfamiliar and they made noise, and Lucius followed them, his haunting voice eerily muffled by the trees and the night air.

“Draco,” he called, like a hunting horn warning the foxes. “Son, I only want to talk. I only want you to come back to me. Why don’t you come greet me? Don’t you love me anymore?” 

They pushed on, on, on. If only they were in Harry’s forest. If only they were anywhere but here. If only, if only—

“Draco, I can hear you,” said Lucius, voice coolly amused. “What do you think you’re doing? Where do you think you’re going? Draco, if you stop running, I’ll let your little elf live.” 

Draco stopped in his tracks. His face looked inhuman with terror, and he stared wide-eyed at Harry. 

“He’s lying,” Harry hissed. “Dobby was in the tent with us.”

“Oh yes, we found him first,” called Lucius, coming closer. “I plan on making him pay for my lost property that night. But I’ll leave him with breath in his body if you come back to me, Draco.” 

Draco made an aborted motion towards his father, and Harry seized his arms and tackled him behind a tree. Sitting on Draco’s chest, he dragged Áwere from his bag and draped it over them both. He clapped a hand over Draco’s mouth and pressed the full weight of himself onto him, interrupting Draco’s minute struggles to buck him off.

“Draco!” yelled Lucius, only meters away from them. “Draco! This is your last chance! I’ll kill that elf the moment I get back!” 

Harry pressed both hands over Draco’s mouth, tucked his head down next to Draco’s, and closed his eyes. Draco was screaming under his hands, tears pouring between Harry’s fingers.

“He’s lying,” Harry whispered in Draco’s ear, the barest of breaths. “He’s lying he’s lying he’s lying he’s lying—” 

“DRACO!” roared Lucius. “For every second more you delay I will take another of his limbs before I end it! This is mercy, son! I am being merciful—don’t make me regret it!” 

Draco gave one more great heaving buck and then went still under Harry, utterly defeated. His body shook with silent, hysterical sobs. 

“YOU DOUBLE-CROSSING DOG!” Lucius roared. “YOU COWARD, YOU DAMN BLOOD TRAITOR! YOU ARE NO SON OF MINE! SAY GOODBYE TO YOUR ELF!” 

There was a _crack_ of magic, and they were alone in the forest.

Harry scrambled off of Draco, who rolled to the side and vomited everything he’d eaten that day. He was sobbing and hyperventilating, face covered in tears and mucus. Harry wasn’t much better.

Harry took out his wand. “ _Agua—Aguamenti_. Here, Draco.” Draco cupped his hands under it and washed out his mouth, scrubbed at his face, but he was still crying. 

“Harry, Harry, he has Dobby,” he sobbed. “He’s going to kill Dobby.” 

“Put your head between your knees.” Harry leaned his head on Draco’s shoulder as he did so. “Breathe. He doesn’t have—he doesn’t have Dobby. He—he was lying.”

“He _does_!” Draco screamed. He choked, and coughed, and resumed sobbing. 

Harry had to be the bigger person. Draco wasn’t used to being in danger like he was; it was Harry’s responsibility to get them back. That’s how things worked. But his body was betraying him. His breath was coming raggedly, his head starting to spin. He drew in a breath and it didn’t fill his lungs. 

He tried another breath. Another. They didn’t work. He didn’t know how breathing just couldn’t work somehow, but it wasn’t.

The world spun out of his vision, and there was only white fuzz. 


	12. Safety

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter warning:** panic attack.

“Harry, Snake, Harry. That’s it. Come on now. Wake up, Snake.” 

Harry cracked open his eyes. Tonks grinned weakly down at him, a young man with nondescript brown hair and an altogether forgettable face. “Hey, Snake,” he said. “No, don’t sit up. You passed out.” 

“I what?” Harry croaked. All at once he remembered everything, and he sat up at once, nearly cracking Tonks’ chin with his skull. The world went dizzy and ill. “Dobby! Draco!” 

Tonks gripped his hand. “Hey. Shush. We still need to be quiet, yeah?” 

Harry looked around, his vision swimming. Draco was curled in the corner of—it was a tent, they were in a tent. His head was between his knees, hands clenched over his head. 

“Ran into Draco levitating you,” Tonks said. “It’s only been a few minutes since you lost consciousness. You need a doctor. Do you know what happened? Draco couldn’t tell me.” 

“Panic attack,” Harry said miserably, clutching Tonks’ shoulder to stay upright. He felt himself start crying again. “Tonks, Lucius found us and said he has Dobby and said if Draco didn’t come out he would kill Dobby and I had to hold Draco down and—” he choked on his tears. 

“Alright,” Tonks said. “Snake, can you tell me what Lobelia says to do right now?” 

“Yes!” said Harry, voice thin and high with panic. “I have to breathe but I can’t breathe! Tonks, I really can’t breathe!” 

Tonks put his hand on Harry’s chest, and put Harry’s on his. “You can breathe,” he said calmly. “I can feel you breathing right now. Even if you think you aren’t breathing, your mind is lying to you. I can feel it. I want you to breathe with me. Even if it feels like it’s not working. Can you do that, Snake?”

“I don’t know!” 

“I want you to try. Breathe with me, and tell me what you’re smelling right now.” 

“Smelling? I’m not smelling anything!” 

“Yes you are. Concentrate, close your eyes, and tell me what you’re smelling.” 

Harry closed his eyes and breathed in deep through his nose. He wasn’t smelling anything. He didn’t understand why Tonks would want to know what he was smelling right now.

“Come on, aren’t snakes great at smelling? Or do you just have a plain old wizard nose?” 

Harry let his mouth fall open slightly and breathed in. Smell—yes, he could smell. “Wet grass,” he whispered. 

“It rained overnight. What else?” 

Breathe in. “Flowers.” 

“I use floral shampoo. What else?” 

Breathe in. “Fried food?” 

“The owner of this tent left a basket of chips. What else?” 

Breathe in. Deep and steady. “Night air.” 

“It’s three in the morning. What else?” 

Breathe in, and in, and in. His lungs were working after all. “Um, gross stuff.” 

“Draco threw up. I gave him a mint. What else?” 

Harry opened his eyes, his heartbeat calming at last, Tonks’ chest rising and falling with his own. “Magic,” he said.

“Magic is all around us,” Tonks agreed. “How do you feel?” 

“Better.” He slumped forward, head against Tonks’ chest as he was hugged tightly. “Thanks, Tonks.”

“Let’s go. We need to get to our rendezvous point.” Tonks got up and crouched beside Draco. “Hey, cousin? Harry’s alright. We’re going to go meet Dobby by the muggles’ house.” 

Draco staggered up, taking Tonks’ hand, not looking away from the ground. 

They poked their heads out of the tent. Things seemed to have calmed somewhat. Harry could no longer see those terrible laughing figures.

“We must keep quiet and move quickly,” said Tonks. “If we are intercepted, Snake and Draco, you are both to continue on while I deal with the threat.” 

“Okay,” Harry said. Draco remained silent. 

But they were not intercepted. They simply joined the masses still fleeing the campground and split from it to head towards the Robertses’ little hut, now empty of all Robertses. 

“Thank Merlin,” said Bill, hovering in the doorway. “You’re the last ones.” 

Draco’s head shot up. “Dobby?” 

“Inside.” 

Draco broke ranks with them and barreled into the house, shoving Bill out of the way. Harry slumped in relief against Tonks’ arm. 

“Wotcher, Bill,” said Tonks tiredly. “I’ll help get everyone back to the Burrow.” 

“Thanks, Tonks. We got an emergency notice that spontaneous portkey-making is currently authorized. Dad was only waiting ’til we knew everyone was here.” 

In the Roberts’ kitchen, everyone was politely not looking as Draco clung to Dobby and his mother and cried as if the world was ending. 

“Harry,” said Arthur in relief. “Thank Merlin. Alright, everyone. Hands on this, er, muggle thing.” 

It was a blender. Harry couldn’t even be concerned that the Robertses would have to purchase a new one. He took hold of the cord, and in a second they were right out front of the Burrow, in the quiet hills.

Mrs. Weasley came bursting out at once, clutching the nearest redhead to her. “Oh! Ron! Ginny, everyone! Are you alright! What on earth is happening?” 

“There was an incident at the cup, mum,” said Bill, doing a headcount. “Blood Riot members, led by Lucius Malfoy. Had a bunch of elves captive, started a panic.” 

“Molly,” said Narcissa, “thank you for watching over Draco. We are going to go home. Daphne, your mother was called in and said you are to come home with us.” 

“Alright,” said Daphne quietly. She took Draco’s hand and gave Harry a weak smile.

“Oh—of course, we’ll be in touch,” said Molly, and Dobby whisked Narcissa and Draco and Daphne away. 

“Us too,” said Tonks, kissing Harry on the head and taking his mother’s hand. “Work to do.” 

“Bye, Andy—oh, Hermione and, oh, Harry dear—” said Molly. “Hermione, do you have one of those—those things—fellytones, to reach your parents—” 

“No, Mrs. Weasley,” said Hermione. “It’s alright. I’ll just meet them in a few days like we originally planned. I don’t want them to worry.” 

Mrs. Weasley looked troubled at that, but then her focus was redirected to Harry. “Harry, of course, I already sent a patronus to Severus, he’ll be here shortly. Everyone else, bed at once, right now, bed.” 

There was a round of protests. 

“Mum,” said Bill quietly. “No one’s sleeping after that. How about I make some tea?” 

“Tea! Yes, of course—” In a tizzy, she bustled back inside. 

They trooped in, the Weasleys plus Hermione and Harry. Mrs. Weasley ensconced them all on couches and armchairs with throw blankets, and Bill pressed cups of tea and chocolate biscuits into their hands.

Harry gave his biscuit to Ron. He couldn’t imagine eating right now. All he wanted to do was go home.

There was a rapping on the door. “Molly?” called Severus. 

Harry leapt up, squeezing all his friends’ hands in quick succession. “Bye.” 

“Bye, Harry,” they called, in depleted voices.

Severus was being given a rapid update by Mrs. Weasley. He looked Harry over as he came to the door. “Harry, are you all right?” 

Harry shrugged. “I want to go home.” 

“Of course. We will go to my house at once.” 

“No,” Harry said. “I want to go _home_.” 

Severus frowned at him. “Mr. Potter, surely this once—just come home with me for one night, where I know you are safe—” 

“Take me _home_ , Severus!” Harry shouted. “Or I’ll find my own way! I want to go home! I want my family!” 

Severus pressed his lips together. “Very well. Home. Come here.” 

Harry stared at his outstretched hand. Would Severus trick him? Apparate him away to somewhere far from Hogwarts? Maybe he _would_ be better off making his own way back, somehow. 

Severus sighed. “Harry, please. I promise.”

Harry took his hand. With a nod to Mrs. Weasley, Severus whisked them away. They arrived in Hogsmeade, buildings barely visible in the dark.

Harry pulled out his cloak. Severus put a hand on his shoulder. “Mr. Potter—just this once, let me walk you back to wherever it is you go—” 

Harry knocked his hand away, flipped his pendant around, and flung on his cloak. Invisible twice-over, he ran. 

“Basilisk?” he whispered through a throat ragged from sobbing.

There was a great rustling and shuffling. “Snakeheart? Why are you back so soon? Why do you smell of distress? Snakeheart, _what happened_?” 

Harry threw off his cloak and untwisted his pendant and clutched the basilisk’s tail as it came to curl around him. “Basilisk!” 

“Snakeheart, what is wrong, are you wounded, who did this to you—get in the nest, here—children, stay back, let him breathe.” 

“No, no, I want them,” Harry sobbed, clutching the babies close as they swarmed over him. “Basilisk, at the quidditch cup—” Choked and terrified, he sobbed out what had happened. 

The basilisk’s roar of rage shook the stones of the den. “WIZARDS!” it roared, as the babies hissed in anger in Harry’s lap. “HOW DARE THEY! HOW DARE THEY TOUCH ONE OF US! Impudent, treacherous, hot-blooded creatures—how dare they? _Don’t they know who you are_?” 

“Of course they don’t,” Harry said, his sobs fading in the wake of the basilisk’s soothing rage. “How could they know? To them, I’m just Harry.” 

The basilisk curled and coiled around the den, frantic and furious, as the babies twined themselves across him, hissing soothing nonsense sounds. Then the basilisk draped a coil across his legs and butted its face into his back, tongue flicking gently across his neck. “This is my fault,” it said.

“No!” Harry said immediately. “How would it be?” 

“My obsession with secrecy, my worry, it has put you in grave danger. Those outside are ignorant to your significance. They do not understand that I will kill anyone who hurts you, a thousand times over.” 

“What are you talking about? Of course you have to stay secret. What about the children?” 

“The children are already deadlier than any other being in the natural world,” hissed the basilisk. “No. No, the time for secrets is ending. Your safety is my responsibility.” 

“Since when!” Harry exclaimed.

The basilisk turned a skeptical yellow eye on him. “Since now. We have long said we are a nation. It is time for us to start acting like it.” 

Harry woke several times in the night, shouting with fear, and each time the basilisk soothed him back to sleep. At last, he woke for good, easily. He woke to the basilisk’s muttering.

“And location … deeper … no, further … but not too far … warm but not too hot … ah, Snakeheart. Wake up and fetch your writing tools.” 

“Writing tools?”

“Yes, you and I are making a list.” 

“Right.” Harry crawled over to the little nook where he kept his paper and chalk, and dragged them back over to the sleeping bundle of basilisk babies. “Okay.” 

“Good. Write this down. Deep and warm, but comfortable for mammals. At least three days from the borders of other nations. No _further_ than ten days from the centaur village or the elf settlement. Hostile to wizards. Absolutely concealed. At least twelve days from wizarding habitation. Easy access to the surface. Ground cover of two body-heights or more. Plentiful prey. Clean water source. Am I missing anything?” 

Harry looked up from his scribbled list. “How should I know? I’ve no clue what you’re doing.” 

The basilisk stared at him. “I am listing qualifications for our new home, of course.” 

Harry’s head spun. “We’re moving?” 

The basilisk nodded. “If we are to grow as a nation, we cannot do so under a wizard dwelling. We are only here by happenstance, after all. You shall seek out our new home.” 

“Oh shall I,” Harry murmured. “Basilisk … you don’t have to do this for me. This is your home.” 

“You are my home,” corrected the basilisk. “You and my children. This is just a den. And you are deeply wrong: I do have to do this for you. No objections, Snakeheart, just action. Now, what am I missing?” 

Tears trembling in his eyes, but good ones this time, Harry evaluated the list. “Um. No competition for territory?” 

“Put it down.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	13. Nation-Building

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much love for the basilisk last chapter in the comments <3

“Hmm … Sovereign?” 

“That is the fairy’s word. Too … totalitarian.” 

“Um. Ruler?” 

“Boring, don’t you think? Besides, what do I rule?” 

“Good point. Well. Older Basilisk? Some call you Eldest, I think.” 

“… Eldest. Yes, perhaps. What of my children, then?” 

Harry ate a square of chocolate and doodled a little snake on his brainstorming parchment. “Well, what are they to you?”

“They are my children.” 

“Yes, but how do they share power?” 

“They have no power; they are infants.” 

Harry rolled upright. “See, we can’t tell people that, though. To everyone else, the babies will be like your heirs. Like Araeo.” 

“Heirs implies they inherit some sort of dominion,” said the basilisk. “I have no material wealth.” 

“They’ll have territory,” Harry pointed out. 

“I am no monarch, and I dislike their status depending on the material. What if they wish to leave the territory? Think of something else.” 

Harry frowned. “Um ….” 

“I know,” said the basilisk. “Let their titles describe what they do, rather than what they have.” 

Ifingr squirmed a little as it woke up. “Snakeheart, I want to be something cool.” 

“Yeah, it has to be really cool,” Harry agreed. “Well, what about … Moon-Eye, for Ifingr, because of its eyes?” 

“Closer ….” 

“Knower,” Harry suggested. “Ifingr the Knower. The Wise. The Apperceiver.” 

“Hmm … yes, I like this form …” 

“Got it!” Harry lifted Ifingr up to look it in its foggy eyes. “Ifingr, the Far-Fathomer. The Fathomer for short.” 

“Wicked,” hissed Ifingr. 

“For Laila, Swift-Striker,” said the basilisk. “It is the quickest of them.” 

“And for Ouro …” wondered Harry. “Its gaze is the strongest.”

“Bone-Burier,” said the basilisk with deep satisfaction. “Now there is just you.” 

“Emissary, right?” 

The basilisk shook its head. “No. That is too lowly. You are emissary to many. You must be held in as high regard as myself.” 

Harry looked up. “What, really? I’m not, you know … a basilisk. Biologically.” 

The basilisk hissed. “You are a basilisk if I say you are.” 

Harry grinned. “Oh, alright. Well, you’re already Eldest. I can’t be ‘Also Eldest’.” 

“If your name wasn’t ‘Snakeheart,’ that would be your title. Ah, no, I have it. You will be The Tongue of the Deeps.” 

Harry snickered. “That sounds a little dirty.” 

“The Voice of the Deeps.” 

“Better. Actually, that sounds cool.” 

“Write this down. Full title: Snakeheart, Voice of the Deeps, Kindred of the Eldest.” 

“That’s a really long title.” 

“The longer, the better, if we’ve learned anything from the acromantulae. You shall be The Voice for short.” 

“Snakeheart?” 

“Yes, Laila the Swift-Striker?” 

Laila giggled. “Your glass thing has been flashing since last night.”

“My glass thing? Oh stars, Araeo!” Harry catapulted over to his trunk and seized the mirror. The moment he held it up, Araeo’s distraught face appeared in the mirror. 

“Snakeheart!” Araeo shouted. “Thank the stars, by all the prophets, Snakeheart, you’re safe—” 

“Araeo, I’m sorry!” Harry wailed. “I should have called you right away—I’ve been home with the basilisks—” 

“No, no!” Araeo visibly made an effort to calm down. “You’re with your family, of course, you’re safe, I knew you were safe, obviously—I tried to warn you before it happened, but you didn’t answer!” 

“I forgot the mirror here,” Harry admitted. “But I’m alright. It was really bad, though. I’m staying with the basilisk until I come to the forest.” 

“Good,” said Araeo. “That’s very good. Oh, Snakeheart, the moment I caught a glimpse of what would happen, I thought I would run all the way to warn you, but mother said absolutely not—” 

“It’s good you didn’t,” said Harry grimly. “It wasn’t safe for centaurs. It wasn’t safe for anyone.” 

“Aaa-rayyy-oh!” shouted Laila, wriggling into view, eyes shut tight. “Aaa-rayyy-oh!” 

“That’s right!” said Araeo in delight. “You said my name, Laila!” 

“Layy-lahh!” Laila said proudly, in English. “Learnsss!” 

“Oh, yes, you do learn,” said Araeo, beaming at it. “What else can you say?” 

“Can ssssay … BUGSSS!” 

“Bugs!” repeated Araeo in delight. 

“Snakeheart,” said the basilisk. “Ask your heartkin if he can make you a robe out of this. I suspected Salazar still kept it. Take some to the mer, as well.” It nudged something large and oddly transparent over his legs. Harry pulled it up to inspect it, and his jaw dropped.

“My shed skin,” said the basilisk proudly. “I only shed once every century or so, you know. Well, ask him!” 

“Araeo, the basilisk wants to know if you can make me a robe out of its shed skin.” Harry angled the mirror towards the skin. 

“Oh! Yes, I’ll try! That’s lovely, it looks like it’s shining. Yes, bring it next week.” Araeo looked at him curiously. “Any reason why?” 

Harry grinned. “Oh, well, actually. I need, I suppose, official diplomatic clothes.” 

Araeo stared at him. “Does that mean what I think it means?” 

“That we’re coming out of hiding? Yes. Eventually. We have stages.” He tilted the mirror towards his massive stack of parchment. 

“Oh, this is going to be so brilliant.” 

_Avalon re Aflin Fler,_

_Please pass the contents of this courtesy missive on to Council Member Sambation re Krilfin Flin, to be relayed as directly as possible to her majesty Queen Celadon re Alimnion. From this point forward all missives received through myself, Snakeheart, shall be understood as direct correspondence from the Eldest of the Nation of Basilisks and be regarded with due importance._

_The Basilisk, heretofore referred to in diplomatic context as “The Basilisk, Eldest”, “The Eldest”, or “Eldest”, would like to make transparent the current status of its Nation. The Eldest has long preferred a position of innocuity among the non-human Nations of the Lake and Forest. This long-held stance is poised to shift, due to outrageous malefaction recently effected on members of the Nation as a result of Wizarding affairs—_

_…_

_…_

_…_

_Regards from the Council of the Eldest,_

_Snakeheart, Voice of the Deeps, Kindred of the Eldest_

_Ava -_

_Sorry about the last letter! The basilisk insisted. Anyway, things went very bad in the wizarding world the other day—remember the quidditch match I told you about?—and we’re coming out of hiding. You’ll probably read about it in The Demiguise, but here’s what happened—_

_…_

_…_

_…_

_See you soon,_

_Snake_

**THE DEMIGUISE**

_THE PREMIER INTER-BEING NEWS SOURCE_

_EDITION 92 ✩ 10 July 1994_

_CONTENTS:_

_TERROR AT QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP_  
by Superlative  
_SEVEN DETAINED BLOOD RIOT MEMBERS RELEASED; MALFOY’S HAND SUSPECTED_  
by Humdinger  
_TORTURED ELVES SHARE STORIES_  
by Humdinger  
_AURORS HARASS GUESTS, DON'T KEEP THE PEACE_  
by Humdinger  
_EYEWITNESS AND MINISTERIAL CANDIDATE ANDROMEDA TONKS SPEAKS OUT!_  
by special guest writer Morph

_LETTERS FROM FAR AFIELD:_  
TO SNAKE FROM CANIDAE: _SEND US AN OWL_  
TO MIRROR GHOST FROM MORPH: _OWL SERPENTUS FOR MERLIN'S SAKE_  
TO TITCH FROM TWINS: _SPARE AN OWL FOR LITTLE BRO_  
TO S.H. FROM WIGGENWAND: _OWL ME OR ELSE_

“Snakeheart, perhaps you should stay just a few days longer. Until you are recovered.” 

“I’m recovered! And I have things to do. _We_ have things to do. You came up with them all, remember?” 

“You are still having nightmares.” 

“They’ll fade. Being with Araeo will help, you’ll see. Plus, if I don’t see Limmy soon I think she might honestly come find me, and she’s a wanted criminal.” He packed the scrolls containing near-identical copies of the basilisk’s missive into his bag. “Right. Ifingr, ready to meet the world?” 

“YES!” shrieked Ifingr.

“Ifingr,” said the basilisk seriously. “Do you remember what I told you?” 

Ifingr wriggled its way up Harry’s leg. “If anyone tries to hurt Snakeheart I bite and kill it as fast as I can.” 

“Correct.” 

Harry sighed. “You know, I’ve survived the forest for six years on my own.”

“It’s not the forest I’m worried about. Be safe, Snakeheart. Come safely back to me, both of you.” 

Harry pressed a kiss to the small scales beneath its eye. “We will.” He hefted Ifingr’s body in his arms as it coiled around his neck. Ifingr was too big now to be concealed beneath his robes. “Alright, my little diplomat. There’s just one thing we have to do first.” 

“What?” Ifingr hissed.

“Say sorry.” 

“Off to the forest?” Myrtle asked. “Oh, and taking the baby? Hello, baby!”

“Hello, Myrtle!” hissed Ifingr happily. “My name isss Far-Fathomer now!” 

“Oh? What a pretty name! And your English is so good.” Myrtle beamed at Harry. “Far-Fathomer!” 

“We all have titles now,” said Harry, grinning. “Get this, I’m the Voice of the Deeps. Cool, yeah?” 

“Very cool,” said Myrtle. “I want one.”

“You can be: Best Friend of the Voice of the Deeps.” 

She grinned. “A title shared by many. I’ll take it. Float you to the entrance hall?” 

Harry shook his head. “Library first.” 

Harry draped Áwere around Ifingr, and played tag with Myrtle all the way there, as she could see through Chikkeritt's pendant. He finally skidded to a halt, panting, at the massive stained-glass doors of the library. Myrtle catapulted straight through them, then poked her head back out. “Beat you inside.” 

“Unfair,” Harry gasped. “I beat you to the _door_.” 

“I beat you inside,” Myrtle repeated smugly. 

Harry opened one of the doors and slipped into the library, completely silent during the summer holiday. Even Madam Pince was gone, thank goodness. Quiet now, with Myrtle mostly transparent, they made their way to the free book room.

Only it wasn’t a free book room. It was Severus’ private reading room. Harry dug out a little package from his bag and opened the door. 

Severus, reading in his armchair, looked up.

Harry froze. Myrtle ducked out of sight. 

“Hello?” Severus asked, wand pointed at the doorway at once. “Who’s there?” 

Harry bit his lip. Then, very carefully, he extended the little wrapped bundle from his cloak, placing it gently on the table. 

“Reveal yourself!” demanded Severus. He strode towards the table and stared at the package, then did a double take.

_To Severus, From Harry._

“Harry?” Severus asked. “Are you there?” 

Harry said nothing. He hovered in the doorway. 

“Potter, really. Just show yourself, I swear I won’t do anything you don’t wish.” 

Harry stayed still. Finally, Severus sighed and stowed his wand, tearing open the package. 

_Destroying the Indestructible: Spells of Absolute Eradication_ sat there, along with a small note. 

Severus let out a hard breath. “I see stolen things are returned at last.” He flicked open the note and read aloud: “Severus. Sorry for shouting at you. I was upset. Here’s this back. Don’t worry, I only ever used it twice.” 

Severus flicked the note down and glared at approximately Harry’s stomach. “Lily was just like you: you could tell her nothing. She was her own final word. Twice, child, is far too many times. Don’t you have any sense of danger? The spells in this book kill.” 

_That’s the idea_ , thought Harry. 

“I accept your apology,” said Severus. “I should not have pressured you. I hope you can forgive me as well.” 

Harry nodded, though Severus couldn’t see it. Then he slowly, gently, closed the door.

The forest, the forest. Thank the stars for the forest. Harry threw off his cloak and spread his arms, drinking in the summer smells and sounds and tastes. He had missed it! 

He set off for the centaur village, Ifingr riding proudly on his shoulders. This was different. This was _good_. The basilisk was doing this for him, and maybe it should have felt like _too much_ —but instead he only felt protected and loved. His family would move mountains for him, and he for them, and that was right. 

_Harry and Ifingr_

“What’s over there?” Ifingr hissed quietly, extending itself over his shoulder. “They smell itchy.” 

“Bowtruckles,” said Harry. “Little creatures that eat bugs in wand trees. They aren’t sapient, and they bite.” 

“I can bite.” 

“They can’t bite like you. They’re just pests.” 

“What’s that noise?”

“That’s a robin singing. It’s a sort of bird. They lay small eggs.” 

“I want an egg!” 

“Don’t you want to wait until we get to the village? If you eat an egg now you won’t be hungry for a while.” 

“No, I want to wait. What’s up above blocking the heat?” 

“That’s a cloud. It’s a big thing in the sky made of water.” 

“Gross!” 

“You don’t like water?” 

“No, it’s gross that it’s in the air!” 

Harry laughed. “What, why?” 

“Because water should come _down_.” 

“I can’t argue with that.” 

“What’s that crunching ahead?” 

Harry squinted ahead, and smiled hugely. “You know what that is! Can’t you smell him?” 

“ARAEO!” Ifingr shrieked in English, writhing around Harry’s head in exuberance. “ARAEO ARAEO ARAEO!” 

“Ready to run?” Harry asked. 

“READY!” 

Harry sprinted for Araeo, who laughed in delight and braced himself. When he was a meter away Harry leapt, twisting in midair, and Araeo caught him under the shoulders and knees, staggering but not falling.

“ _Oof_!” Araeo laughed in delight and kissed Ifingr on the head, and then Harry. “Snakeheart! Ifingr! Shall I carry you both back to the village?”

“YESSS!” Ifingr shrieked. 

“No,” laughed Harry. 

“CARRY ME!” 

“How about this.” Araeo dumped Harry back down and lifted Ifingr off his shoulders, draping it across his arms. “There we go, now everyone’s happy.” He held out his hand to Harry. 

Grinning in joy and relief, Harry took it. _Ba-bum_ , went their hearts, as their heartbeats slipped into alignment. It was like a physical weight lifted from Harry’s soul. He stared into Araeo’s foggy eyes in utter delight. “I missed you.” 

“I missed _you_ ,” said Araeo. “I haven’t a sense of the specifics, but I suspect some great changes are about to occur.” 

“Yep.” Harry swung their hands as they walked. Araeo had met them early; they were still several hours from the village. “Stuff and things. Official boring things.” 

“Not boring!” Ifingr shrieked. “Snakeheart has a name now!” 

“A title,” Harry corrected. “Snakeheart has a title now.” 

“Title!” 

“Hm. Is your title Snakeheart?” 

“No, that’s my name.” 

Araeo hummed. “I see. Is your title Emissary?” 

“No, that’s my job.” 

“I see.” Araeo stroked Ifingr’s head. “Is your title … Heartkin to the Stargazer Heir? Or perhaps Bulwark?” 

“No, those are just parts of me.” 

Araeo beamed at him. “Okay, I have one more guess.” 

“Go on.” 

“Is your title the Voice of the Deeps?” 

Harry’s jaw dropped. “You cheater! You said you didn’t know the specifics!” 

Araeo laughed. “Your mistake. I always know the specifics. Don’t worry, I haven’t told mother.” 

“Do you know mine, Araeo?” asked Ifingr. 

“Let me see. Could it be Ifingr the Cutest?” 

Ifingr giggled. “No.” 

“Ifingr the Adorable? Ifingr the Precious?”

“No!” 

“Then I have no clue. Tell me?"

“Ifingr the Far-Fathomer!”

Araeo grinned. “What a perfect name.”

They walk to the village was a balm to the turbulent days before. It was a perfect summer day. In the village the fire was smoldering, parcels of food being slowly roasted in the coals, and the telescopes were out, for a perfect summer day would surely lead to a perfect stargazing night. 

Araeo raised no objection to Harry taking Ifingr back, but not to conceal: to drape back across his shoulders for the world to see, as he had never done. 

Harry took a deep breath and clasped both of Araeo’s hands, straightening up. “Heir Stargazer. I must speak to Band Leader Stargazer at once.” 

Araeo nodded. “I will fetch her immediately, emissary. Please wait by our fire.” 

Harry went and sat near the fire, which was burning low purple flames. Ifingr stretched out to bask, and Harry set his bag down and pulled out his scrolls and took a few deep breaths.

“You know,” he murmured to Ifingr. “Very long ago, your parent decided I would speak in its place, just because it couldn’t be bothered. Sometimes I wish I could go back and warn my past self not to fall for it.” 

Ifingr giggled. “Really?” 

“No.” Harry pressed a kiss to its head, spotting Araeo leading Nayla and Firenze from the bower’s main entrance. “Alright, Far-Fathomer. Remember to enunciate.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: reunions :)


	14. Visage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yayy people are so excited about the happenings! (I am too!) Enjoy this chapter of only fluff <3

“Okay! Let’s see it!” 

Harry passed him the roll of shed basilisk skin as Ifingr explored Araeo’s stuffed animals. 

“I’ll definitely need Myreme’s help,” he mused, brushing his fingers gently across the bumpy surface. “It’s so delicate; I don’t want to tear it.” 

“It’s basilisk skin,” said Harry. He seized a corner and yanked. “It won’t tear.” 

“Ooh. You know, my mother is actually very pleased.” 

“Really? Why? When she saw Ifingr I thought she had _actually_ been petrified.”

“Well, no one’s ever even thought there could be _more than one_ basilisk! Anyone would be shocked. But she’s actually pleased. Sure, there's an unexpected new nation, but we already have friendly ties with it. I mean, it's just you." 

"And me," murmured Ifingr.

Araeo smiled. "Yes, and the Cutest."

"Well, one day she'll meet the basilisk," Harry said. "I'll probably have to translate, its English isn't nearly as good as it pretends. I’m pleased your mum is happy.” 

“Snakeheart,” hissed Ifingr. “I’m tired.” 

“Okay, let’s make you a nest.” Harry went over to Araeo’s bed and arranged Ifingr neatly in a little blanket pile. “Sleep well, alright? You did perfect today.” 

“‘Right.”

Harry smiled fondly down at it. 

“Extremely lucky,” murmured Araeo. “That it’s blind.” 

“Really lucky,” agreed Harry. “Really, very lucky.” 

“Snakeheart?” 

Harry turned to look at him. Araeo’s arms were spread, his bottom lip trembling. Harry flew to him at once, and he had to lean up and Araeo down, because Araeo was far outpacing him in height these days, and they closed their eyes and hugged for a long, long time. 

“I knew you would make it home,” whispered Araeo. “But I was so scared.” 

“Me too,” Harry admitted. “I passed out.” 

“You passed out?!” 

“I had a panic attack and passed out. Everything was really, really bad.” 

“You have to see the doctor,” said Araeo, drawing back, eyes wide. 

“The doctor? I’m not hurt.” 

“You were so scared you fainted! You _have_ to talk to the doctor!” 

“What can a doctor do about it?” 

“Teach you ways to control your terror, for one.”

“Oh. I already see Lobelia, you know that.” 

“You cannot see her over the summer. Come, you have to see Doctor Tyrios at once.” He took Harry’s hand— _ka-dum_ —and dragged him towards the door. 

“What about Ifingr?” 

“Don’t they sleep for hours? It will find you by scent if it needs you. Now _come_.” 

Harry followed. They trekked possibly a kilometer through winding bowers, until they came to the doctor’s residence. Araeo stamped a foot outside until there was a call of “Come in!” 

Tyrios was a piebald centaur with silver hair piled in a bun on his head and narrow glasses on his nose. He met them in a wide room with three huge skylights letting in the summer sun. “Araeo,” he said. “And Snakeheart. Or are you still acting in an official capacity? Is it ‘The Voice’ now?” 

Harry shook his head. “I’m just Snakeheart at the moment.” 

“Doctor, Snakeheart was caught up in the recent madness at the wizarding sporting event. A man came after him in the woods. He had an attack of terror so strong that he fell unconscious.” 

Tyrios looked at him, eyebrows furrowed. “I am very sorry to hear that, Snakeheart. Are you here for my advice?” 

Awkwardly, Harry nodded. “Araeo thought—” 

Tyrios held up a hand and turned to Araeo. “Heir Araeo, you may go.” 

Araeo gave a short bow, squeezed Harry’s hand, and let it fall. _Bu-bum_. “Find me after.” 

“Alright,” Harry said, a bit lost. “Bye.” 

Araeo left, and Tyrios went and got a stool from somewhere for Harry to sit on, and knelt in front of him so they were almost eye-level. “Araeo worries. It is natural for one who Sees so keenly. Do you want my advice, Snakeheart?” 

“Yes,” said Harry honestly. “I can’t see my therapist when school’s not in session.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I have duties in the forest and lake.” 

Tyrios nodded. “Very well. Has this happened before?” 

Harry hesitated. “Just once—I didn’t pass out. Lucius Malfoy tried to make me leave with him at the bank. Then again the other day—it was Malfoy again. I’ve never fainted before, but I really couldn’t breathe.” He told the doctor everything he could remember about the two incidents. 

Tyrios nodded slowly when he was finished. “There is medicine that can ease these symptoms, but you have the attacks so rarely, I do not think it would be prudent. I can teach you instead breathing and thought techniques.” 

“I already do those with Lobelia,” said Harry helplessly.

Tyrios smiled at him. “The wizarding perception of the mind is quite different from our own, child. Unless Araeo has taught you, you don’t know anything like these.” 

“Oh. Alright, then.” 

Tyrios stood up, holding out a hand to help Harry up. “Wonderful. To the stream!” 

They went to the stream. Ifingr found him halfway there, and received Tyrios’ permission to come along. 

“Ahh,” said Tyrios, looking out at the stream, which was actually more of a brook. Dragonflies flitted over the surface. Tiny fish glinted under the current. It was running swiftly, but not rushing, and Tyrios waded right into the middle of it. Hurriedly, Harry took off his socks and robe and rolled up his pants and splashed in after him, Ifingr coiling its tail up around his shoulders to stay dry.

“Very well,” said Tryios, turning his face up into a sunbeam. “Those of my practice utilize a concept known as _visage_.” 

“Visage,” said Harry. 

“Or envisaging. One way we teach patients to alleviate things such as incapacitating panic is to create a somatic trigger which brings the mind out of the moment and into an embodied memory.” 

“What’s that mean?” 

“I love this brook,” said Tyrios. He dipped his fingers into the current, plucking a floating leaf up and then letting it continue on. “If I am paralyzed by overwhelming emotion, I press this point on my chin,” he touched just under his jaw, “and my mind takes me here. I have trained my mind to do this for me, so that I have a sort of escape. When my mind takes me to this brook I can still understand what is happening to my body—I do not lose control of myself. But my mind has been released from the paralysis.” 

“That’s amazing,” said Harry. “How do you do it?” 

“Many, many, many hours of standing in this stream. I do not expect you to envisage this stream. You need somewhere accessible, where you can go quite often to embed the experience. Let us use this brook as an example.” Closing his eyes Tyrios touched his thumb under his chin. “When I am utterly calm, not a worry in sight, I come to this brook. I stand in it, and I touch my somatic trigger. For as long as I am able, sometimes hours at a time, I focus only on how it feels to be in this stream. It is a sort of deep environmental mediation. I do this so often that when I am outside the stream, and I touch my chin, my mind instantly recalls every physical and mental detail of being in this stream, so strongly that it’s as if I am truly here.” 

Tyrios took his finger down and looked at Harry. “I have only ever known centaurs to use this, of course. But I see know reason why you should not be able to learn it.” 

“I’ll have to think of a good place,” said Harry. “Thank you, Tyrios.” 

“I have a quessstion,” hissed Ifingr softly.   
  
Tyrios looked charmed. “Yes, little one?” 

“What do you do if you don’t have fingersss?” 

“I want to go on another journey,” Harry murmured. 

“Hm?” 

Harry sighed and pulled the blanket closer around him. He reached out in the darkness and found Araeo’s hand. _Da-dum_. On his other side, Ifingr was dead to the world. “What if I just skipped out on fourth year and went on another journey? Out past the elves, past Aeolian, past the crystal cave. Just … out.” 

“Well, I’d go with you, of course.” 

Harry turned to look at him. He was just barely visible in the moonlight, resting his cheek on his elbow, reclined against the upraised portion of his bed. “You would?” 

“Well, it’s only fair. _You_ were ready to run away with _me_.” 

“Hm.” Harry held his hand in both of his own, tracing the lines in his palm. “I did give them fair warning, you know. The wizards. I told them I wasn’t coming back.” 

“I’m sure they’ll understand,” agreed Araeo. “Once they hunt you down and skin you alive.” 

“Ifingr would bite them first.” 

“All of them? Surely one would slip by.” 

“You’d protect me.” 

“From your vengeful slighted friends? I think not.”

Harry snorted. “Some heartkin you are.” 

“You’re _my_ bulwark, not the other way around.” 

“Araeo?” 

Araeo smiled, amused. “Still here, Snakeheart, looking at you and talking to you. Holding your hand.” 

“Remember what we talked about before?” 

“Constantly.” 

Harry blinked. “Oh. Well, I just wanted to make sure you haven’t changed your mind.” 

“I won’t change my mind.” 

“You’re allowed to change your mind.” Harry smirked. “Because, you know, I met Bill Weasley again and he’s got this eyebrow ring—” 

Araeo yanked his hand away and flicked him on the forehead. “Oh, and you’re saying he's just my type, hm?"

“No!” Harry squawked. Araeo snorted. “Oh, whatever. I’m going to bed.” 

“Alright, Snakeheart,” said Araeo in a very patronizing manner. Harry elbowed him, and then curled up against his flank. Araeo’s hand came down to card through his hair, strong fingers stroking down his neck. 

No, he wouldn’t run away. It was enough to know that Araeo would have come with him.

“Ta-da!” Araeo danced through the room, balancing a stack of fabric in his arms. “Snakeheart! Look what Myreme and I made! Isn’t it beautiful?” 

Harry put down the book on geography Firenze had given him. “Stop twirling, I can’t see it!” 

Araeo stopped twirling and whipped out a length of shed basilisk skin. Except it was simply skin no longer. It was a robe, greenly opalescent, dimly shining in the evening sun. Holding his breath for some reason, Harry took off his own robe and slipped the robe of skin on. 

“Oh, Snakeheart,” said Araeo. 

Harry stretched his arms out to see the slim cuffs, turned in a circle to hear how the skin shifted against itself. He was an opal through filtered water. He was a snake. 

“There’s more, we had plenty,” said Araeo. “Enough to adjust it as you grow.” He threw a cloak overtop the robe, settling a wide hood up over Harry’s face. He carefully fit fingerless gauntlets over his wrists, and then revealed the final pieces: two tall, paper-thin boots. Harry reached for them, but Araeo stopped him and knelt, slipping them carefully onto his feet.

Araeo stood back, arms crossed, head tilted. He made minor adjustments to the hang of the cloak, the fit of the hood. And then he simply looked. Harry let him for a moment before impatience got the better of him. “Well? Do I look silly?” 

“Snakeheart,” said Araeo incredulously. “You look like a _basilisk.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: journeying deeper :)


	15. Far-Fathoms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *looks at chapter count* we have ... 10 chapters left?? How???
> 
> So many requests for me to illustrate Harry's basilisk robes! Alas I don't have time, but if anyone else wants to give it a go feel free : )

“You’re crinkly,” hissed Ifingr. 

“Yes. Do you like it?” 

“Yes! You sound like us.” 

“Well, good. I am one of you. Even when I’m not wearing your parent’s skin.”

“I know.” Ifingr drooped its head down to hang by Harry’s hip as they strode through the forest. They were nearly to the acromantula encampment, several days into their journey. Most of Harry’s new clothes were bundled in his pack, but he wore the cloak to get a feel for it. It was incredibly light, so light it almost didn’t feel like he was wearing anything, and it was completely waterproof. He liked to run his fingers along the underside, in the little dips and grooves left by scales. 

“What do you think of all this, Ifingr?” Harry asked. Ifingr turned curious sightless eyes towards him, flicking its tongue out. “All this … far-fathoming, and deep voices, and eldest.” 

Ifingr gave a rippling shrug. “It’s good.” 

“Good? Why’s that?” 

Ifingr coiled itself about Harry’s head, forming a sort of scaly turban. “It’s supposed to happen.” 

Harry reached up and scratched its scales. “What’s that mean?” 

Ifingr hissed. “Dreamt it.” 

“You dreamt it?” 

Ifingr didn’t respond further, and started breathing in a way that meant it’d fallen asleep atop Harry’s head.

“Greetings, Aragog King!” Harry called, striding into the acromantulae encampment, Ifingr hanging down from the back of his neck. Above them, the vast web sparkled with morning dew. “Greetings from the Eldest!” 

There was no response. He stood there and waited, knowing that the minute shivers of the web from his voice would make their way to Aragog eventually. 

And indeed, there he came, Vogir at his side, scuttling down from a treetop and descending as gracefully as dancers to peer at them from the underside of the lowest web.

“Greetings, emissary,” said Aragog in his clicking, clacking voice. “Who is the Eldest?” 

“That’s the basilisk’s new title,” Harry said. “We all have them. May I introduce you to Ifingr, Far-Fathomer, child of the Eldest?” 

Ifingr poked its head up and have a horridly mutilated attempt at “hello” in the acromantula language. 

Aragog and Vogir _stared_. And stared, and stared. 

Harry giggled. “Um, Aragog King? Princess?” 

“What is that,” Vogir said. 

“I have an official missive from the Eldest explaining things,” Harry said. “Would you like me to read it from here?” 

Aragog dropped down to the forest floor and approached them tentatively. “By what manner are we not now stone?” 

“The Far-Fathomer is blind,” Harry explained. “That’s why it was chosen to accompany me.” 

He watched Aragog digest that there were enough basilisks to choose from. Then the spider king performed a bow which involved raising half his back legs into the air. 

“He’s bowing,” Harry hissed in parseltongue. “Go on.” 

Shivering a little with excitement, Ifingr bowed back from his shoulder. 

“Convene with us in the web,” said Aragog. “We will converse.”

“BUGS! BUGS! BUGS!” 

“What is it articulating?” Mosag asked. 

“It’s excited about the bugs.” They were sequestered from a summer night shower inside Harry’s little cocoon, bugs cooking slowly on the fire. “English,” he told Ifingr. “Mosag can’t understand parseltongue.” 

“BUGSSS!” Ifingr shrieked in accented English. 

Mosag twitched a little in pleasure. “How eloquent. Well, Voice, you have assuredly re-woven a web today.” 

“Oh, please don’t call me that when we’re in private,” Harry moaned. 

“Very well, Snakeheart.” 

Vogir tapped a bit at the web towards the entrance of the cocoon before coming in, shedding water. “Good evening, Voice of the Deeps, Kindred of the Eldest, and Ifingr Far-Fathomer.” 

“Evening,” said Ifingr shyly.

“Good evening, Princess Vogir, Second in the Web, Aragog-daughter, Mosag-daughter, Poet in the Night, Slayer of—” 

Vogir clicked a laugh. “All right, all right. No titles between us. I surmise we are forthwith peers.” 

“What, we weren’t?” 

“ _Conclusively_ peers.” Vogir settled by the fire with only a bit of suspicion towards the flames. She sighed heavily. “I will concede, Snakeheart, I am gratified to know you are henceforth safeguarded. Far-Fathomer, you must take care to defend this one.” 

“Unnecessary,” said Harry firmly, as Ifingr furiously agreed. 

“Exceedingly necessary,” corrected Vogir. “I presume you will subsequently decamp for the elves?”

“Yes,” said Harry happily, as Ifingr shrieked, “LIMMY!” 

Vogir slowly stroked her legs over her head, cleaning herself. “The acromantulae have extended a diplomatic claw to the fae. As have the centaurs. We have been … not so much rebuffed, as …” 

“Circumvented?” Harry suggested, remembering two weeks of extraneous and superfluous meetings. “Just be patient and persistent.” 

“We have resolution,” said Vogir. “On the matter of patience, however …” 

“Hm,” Harry said noncommittally. Vogir snickered. “Anyway, Vogir, we’re looking for a new home out here. If you find anywhere good …” 

“I will keep all of my feet on the web,” promised Vogir. 

“I don’t have feet,” hissed Ifingr. 

“Correct,” said Vogir. She looked to Harry. “How are you venturing to the elves?” 

“Through the deep wood.” 

Mosag shuddered. “How you can abide entering that country with such insouciance … even dwelling on its marchlands, most of us would not hazard it.” 

Harry shrugged. “I like it there. And I have friends there. And anyway, Limmy will meet me on the border.” 

“Truly, the connection of the elves to that abstruse weald is profound,” said Vogir. “It is … disconcerting.” 

“I think it’s beautiful.” 

“That, too.” 

“Can you taste it?” 

“Yes,” said Ifingr. It mouth was open, tongue flicking rapidly. Harry took a deep, deep breath in with it.

“What does it taste like to you?” 

“Endless,” said Ifingr, swaying slightly, reaching forward from Harry’s shoulder. “Stars. Dreams.” 

“To me, too,” Harry murmured, and stepped into the deep woods. 

Around them, the forest slipped into a summer haze. Sounds were louder here, or maybe they were softer. Things mattered both less and more. That they had entered with an intention—to find Limmy and pass through—was nothing. Here, the only thing to do was be part of the lifeway of the wood. 

Harry blinked, and the sun was setting. He blinked again, and the full moon was high. Ifingr reached as high as it could off of Harry’s shoulder, wide, blank eyes staring into the sky. It swayed to a beat. Harry knew that beat.

“Hey,” Harry said, standing thoughtlessly to move with it. “How do you know this dance?” 

“It’s in my dreams,” said Ifingr. 

Harry blinked, and it was noon, and he was walking barefoot through a stream. Rainbows of fish rushed passed him, bumping off his calves. 

Harry blinked, and it was evening, and they were sheltering in a hollow tree, listening to distant howls. 

Harry blinked, and it was early, early morning, and Limmy was sitting by their fire. She looked up, and when she blinked, sparks of golden magic fell from her eyelashes.

“Limmy,” he said. 

“Snake,” she said. “ _Finally_.” 

“I thought you is meeting us at the edge,” Harry said, when they had stopped hugging and hugging again and hugging for just one moment more. 

“Sorry,” Limmy said. “I is getting delayed with the fae, and you knows how they is.” 

Harry nodded, looking her over critically. She looked … the best he had ever seen her. She wore a light brown robe and reddish-brown boots, her wand in a holster at her side. Her eyes were luminous in the deep wood, and her face held a sort of internal peace he’d never known it possible for her to find. 

“You looks good,” he said, squeezing her hand. 

“You too,” she said. She tugged a bit of his snakeskin cape. “What is this?” 

“Uniform, sort of,” Harry said. He yawned. With Limmy here, he was shaking off some of the deep wood’s lull. Ifingr too was stirring, more slowly. “Basilisk’s—basilisk’s coming out of hiding. We’re looking for a new home. Somewhere out here!” He grinned. “Oh, that reminds me, you have a title now.” 

“I … has a title?” 

Harry nodded. “Yes, the basilisk and I decided you should have one. How do you like Kindred Deep-Wielder?” 

“What does it mean?”

Harry shrugged. “We’re sort of still making it up. For now it means you’re part of the basilisk’s family, I suppose.” 

“How is I to argue with that? I loves it.” She grinned at him, and then scowled. “Snake. How is you constantly getting into so much trouble? When I’s reading the paper, I’s about to come finds you myself!” 

Harry drooped. “It’s not my fault; you think I _wants_ to keep being terrorized by Malfoy?” 

She shook her head, ears drooping. “No. Sorry.” 

“Anyway, that’s why I has Ifingr now.” 

“Yesss,” hissed Ifingr, blinking slowly. “If I taste the terror human I will bite and kill it.” 

“Good baby,” Limmy cooed. “You has your priorities in order.” She stood up, brushing off her hands. The fire at her feet went out in an instant. “Ready to goes?” 

Harry scrambled up. “Yes! 

“Where to first?” 

Harry grinned. “You knows where.” 

“Ifingr,” said Harry firmly. “Kerkeritt isn’t like you—he's not very strong. You have to be gentle.” 

“I am gentle,” hissed Ifingr.

“What does gentle mean?”

“No squeezing. No biting.” 

“Good. Can you show me on my arm what a gentle hug is?” 

Ifingr looped itself around Harry’s arm and applied the slightest pressure. “Good! That’s perfect.” 

Ifingr hissed in satisfaction. “I want it to be my friend.” 

“If you’re nice, he will be.” 

“Is we getting near?” Limmy asked. “Is this familiar?” 

Harry looked around. He couldn’t be quite sure. ‘Familiar’ was an uneasy concept in the deep wood, but the stream they were walking beside was glinting with gold and silver fish ….

“Snakeheart, I taste something weird!” hissed Ifingr. 

Something touched his nose. Grinning, Harry reached up and scratched Chikkeritt’s invisible fur. She became visible nose-first, little wrinkled face scrunched in happiness, one hand clutching his nose. She chittered excitedly.

“Hi Chikkeritt! Look, I brought a new friend! This is Ifingr.” 

Chikkeritt looked wide-eyed at Ifingr as it carefully looped itself around her body and gave the gentlest squeeze. After a moment, she brought her hands down to scratch along its scales, giving a pleased murmur. 

Limmy came bouncing up, holding a galleon-sized apple that’s skin looked like it was made of feathers. “Hello again,” she said shyly. “Does you want this?” 

Chikkeritt shoved the apple into her mouth, cheek bulging out, and seized the tip of Limmy’s ear. Then she wriggled out of Ifingr’s embrace and scampered ahead, peering back expectantly.

“Let’s go!” said Harry. 

Harry had never known Kerkeritt to be outside the den without his mother, but there he was dabbling his tiny hands in the stream. He was a little ball of rainbow fluff, and when he saw Harry, he squeaked and scrambled towards him. Harry knelt down and cupped him in his hands, rubbing his cheek against his soft fur.

“Kerkeritt, this is Ifingr,” he said, as Ifingr poked its head curiously over his shoulder. He felt Ifingr vibrating with excitement along his shoulders, but it was doing a good job containing itself. 

Kerkeritt curiously inspected Ifingr’s snout, chattering when Ifingr’s tongue flicked across his face. Then he scampered onto Ifingr’s body, and Ifingr uncoiled from Harry and started to slither in circles, Kerkeritt chittering in amusement and clinging on.

Harry grinned. “They’re going to be best friends.” 

Limmy laughed in delight, feeding Chikkeritt, perched on her shoulder, a bit of cheese. “I’s pretty sure that is how _we_ is making friends too.” 

“Oh, definitely."

“Snakeheart,” hissed Ifingr, in the smallest voice Harry’d ever heard from it.

“Yeah?” 

“I taste something.” 

Harry glanced at it, concerned. “What’s it taste like? Bad?” 

Ifingr gave a rippling shrug. “Tastes like nothing.”

“Nothing?”

Ifingr shoved its head under Harry’s shirt, resting against his heart, and hissed unhappily to itself. 

Harry put a hand on Limmy’s shoulder. She stopped walking and looked at him in concern as he opened his mouth to breathe in the saturated air. Ifingr could taste far better than him, of course. 

“Snake?” 

“Do you taste something odd?” 

She shook her head. “No. But your tree is up ahead.” 

Harry blinked in surprise. “My tree?” 

She nodded. “Your tree, your wand tree. It’s ahead.” 

“Oh.” A tremor of unease shook through him. “Let’s go around it.” 

“Obviously.” 

They joined hands, and she steered them carefully around the tree. Passing outside its circumference of silence, Ifingr shivering tightly around his neck, Harry beheld the bone-white tree. The tree that had almost killed him, that had taken a horcrux from his soul in return for wand wood. It stood there, a lightning strike frozen in the air, and he felt it acknowledge him.

“What is it,” he murmured to himself, a question that had always scratched at him. What was it, this tree, this fellow denizen of the wood that made bargains like he did? 

“That’s how the fae is coming here,” Limmy said.

He stared at her. “What?” 

Limmy blinked at him. “Sovereign cousin told me. They is telling me when they is coming to this world, there is only that tree here. The wood is growing up around it.” 

“Then it must be ancient. Wouldn’t it be bigger?” 

Limmy shrugged. “I supposes it is just the size it wants to be.” 

“What is it, is they knowing? Is it a doorway?” 

She frowned. “No. It is ... a bargain."

"A bargain? How can a tree be a bargain?"

She shrugged. "How can anything in the deep wood be what it is?"

“It scares me,” Harry admitted. 

“Good.” Limmy brought them the rest of the way around the tree, until it slipped out of sight, and finally Ifingr came back out of Harry’s shirt, though it was still subdued. 

He left his worst memory behind. 

“Welcome to Refuge,” said Limmy, as they neared the far edge of the forest. “What do you thinks?”

Harry stopped and looked around in confusion. “I … don’t sees it?” 

It was certainly a beautiful part of the forest. The trees here had never felt human touch, but had felt plenty of fairy influence. They towered upwards, meters thick, branches forming a perfect weaving of a canopy. There were birds and insects and a few bowtruckles, but no elves. 

Limmy grinned. “Brilliant, right? Come here.” He bent down, and she placed her thumb in the center of his forehead. A ripple of elf magic passed through his body, making the tips of his ears and toes tingle, and when he looked up again, he was in _Refuge_.

His jaw fell. “Limmy! It isn’t even being nine months!” 

She laughed in delight. “Well, our cousins is helping, of course!” 

“I can’t taste it,” complained Ifingr. 

“Oops, sorry, baby.” She pressed her thumb to Ifingr’s forehead, and at once its mouth dropped open and it wiggled around in excitement, exclaiming at the taste of the magic. 

Refuge was in the trees. 

Harry laughed in delight. The canopy was so tightly woven that the elven construction were just barely visible through the branches. He heard talking and laughter and a myriad other noises, and tasted vibrant magic spilling downwards through the tree trunks. Multicolored sparks drifted down from the tangled branches, and _Harry wanted to be up there right now._

“Hang on!” Limmy said, and took his hand. With a _crack_ of apparition, they were in the canopy. 

Harry’s jaw dropped. They weren’t _on_ the canopy. They were truly _in_ the canopy. The topmost branches of the trees had been woven into a three-dimensional landscape, sheltering the space within from above and below. Across the bumpy floor of woven branches walked elves, dozens of elves, chatting and carrying things and watching children and disappearing into small tree trunk doorways that grew smoothly back after they were admitted. 

They had apparated into a small plaza, where a few benches had been grown straight from the branches. Nearby, an elf was patiently coaxing new shoots up into legs for another. 

He _knew_ that elf! “Toddy!” 

Toddy spun around, clapped eyes on him, and laughed in delight. “Snake!” He ran and hugged Harry, hard, pulled back to grin at him, and then fell backwards onto the canopy-floor in shock when he saw Ifingr.

“Oh,” Harry said hurriedly. “It’s alright, it’s just a baby! It’s nice!” 

“Ha,” said Toddy gingerly. “Right. Snake, you is here!” 

“Snake?” someone called from across the plaza. “Not _our_ Snake?” 

Harry spun around to wave at Norry, a warm delight blooming in his chest that turned, completely unexpectedly, into tears.

Norry gaped at him. “Snake! You—has a snake!” 

“Limmy, will you take it?” Harry asked desperately.

“Come here, baby,” said Limmy, draping Ifingr across herself. The snake almost covered her completely. 

Harry, crying in earnest now, met Norry halfway across the plaza, kneeling down to catch him in his arms. “Norry,” he sobbed, half overwhelmed with emotion and half surprised at himself. “I’s missing you.” 

“Oh, Snake.” Norry ran his hands through his hair. “Oh, Snake, I’s missing you too. I’s so glad you is safe.” 

Harry was utterly losing control of himself. “Is Drippy here?” 

Norry brought a hand to his mouth and whispered into it, “Drippy Whitebeam.” A little golden sparrow took flight from his hand. 

“That’s a wonderful name,” said Harry, hiccuping into Norry’s shoulder. “Do you haves one?” 

Norry shook his head. “I isn’t wanting one.” 

“Norry,” came an exasperated voice. “What is you doing to makes Snake cry?” And then Drippy was kneeling beside them both, wrapping his arms around Harry too, and Harry was crying again. 

“There, there Snake,” said Drippy. “You’s alright. We’s all alright now.” 

“And when you is catching your breath,” said Norry dryly. “Maybe you is telling us what that massive snake you is carrying around is.” 

“You is telling me,” said Orry stiffly, looking across the table at Harry, Limmy, and Ifingr. They had been escorted into one of the tree-trunks into a half-finished room, with a table and chairs growing from the canopy and sunlight filtering past the green leaves above. “That you is living, this entire time … with a _basilisk_?” 

Harry nodded. 

“With a basilisk under Hogwarts castle.” 

“Mhm.” 

“That is living there for centuries.” 

“Yes.” 

“With _other basilisks_.” 

Harry shrugged. 

“And _you_ ,” said Orry, pointing at Limmy. “Is _knowing_ about this?!” 

Limmy looked to the side. “Er, yes.” 

“Orry?” asked Ifingr shyly.

Orry glanced halfway towards it, turned away in alarm, visibly remembered it was blind and made herself look again. “Yes, ah—Far, Far-Fathomer?” 

“Your food smellsss good.” 

“Stars, Ifingr,” Harry said, blushing. “That’s rude!” 

“Why?” Ifingr demanded. “I’m hungry!” 

Silently, Orry pulled a small cake from her pocket and passed it over. Harry sighed as Ifingr snapped it up.

“Sorry,” he told Orry. “It’s just a baby.” 

“Oh,” Orry said, face unpinching a little. “A baby? I supposes that’s alright then.” She sighed deeply. “Snake … you is a diplomat? What does I call you now?” 

“You calls me Snake,” Harry said firmly. “I has a title, but only for fancy occasions.” 

“One more question,” said Orry faintly. “Is Tippy knowing any of this?” 

“Ah, no,” Harry said, kicking his legs. “I is thinking, maybe _you_ can tells her!” 

Orry leveled him with an incredibly dry look. “Over your dead body, Snake.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: a friend comes to stay :)


End file.
